


On Islands Shouting Lies

by DeanWinchesterWearsMakeup



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam Milligan is a Winchester, Dark, Dishonesty, Gen, Good Sibling Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Mentions of Mental Illness, Mistrust, mentions of corporal punishment, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanWinchesterWearsMakeup/pseuds/DeanWinchesterWearsMakeup
Summary: “We're all islands shouting lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding.”― Rudyard KiplingDean is 21 and legal guardian of his 16 & 17 year-old brothers. John never whispered a word of monsters to his two younger sons. Now he is gone, along with all of the other hunters he once partnered with. Dean vows to continue their secret mission, alone, living under a crushing mountain of lies. But new college student Sam starts poking into his brother’s secret life with the help of his high school brother Adam, and together they start to realize that not all is what it seems with the elder Winchester. Will Dean be able to continue his father’s mission while protecting his brothers from the truth, or will the two young men be pulled into a life their father and Dean never wanted for them?
Comments: 26
Kudos: 35





	1. Winter Solstice

“Cas? Cas!”

“Take it easy, Mr. Winchester,” cooed the breathy voice of a unseen woman whose hair brushed lightly over Dean’s biceps as he struggled in his bindings.

“Where the fuck am I?” Dean demanded wildly; and not for the first or last time.

The distinctive metallic rolling noise of an IV stand being pulled up to the hospital bed caught Dean’s attention, and he froze. Footsteps cautiously approached him on the noisy tile moments later, and Dean struggled to turn his head to look. Not that he could see anything; the black flannel blindfold prevented him, but the gesture had been automatic.

“How’s he doing?” a male voice queried, just as Dean winced and fought to pull away from the rubber tubing that snapped around his arm, just above the elbow.

“Moderately dehydrated, low blood pressure-“

“What the fuck is going on?” Dean moaned.

“-and still highly disoriented,” the second male voice continued. “I’m sure you heard about the reason for the blindfold.”

“Sammy!” Dean pleaded desperately, to no one in particular. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Best I can tell,” said a female voice from the opposite side of the room, at which Dean’s head whipped around to “look” again, “he thinks that two people are in the room with him. One of them is Sammy, or Sam, but we’re unsure of the identity of the other except that it appears to be a woman.”

“Adam? You son of a bitch!” Dean yelled as he stared back up at the ceiling again and fought the tears that were busy pushing themselves forcefully out of his sightless eyes to soak the flannel covering them.

“Three people now. What was the other name he was yelling out?”

“Sounded like ‘Cass.’ Probably short for Cassandra, we’re thinking. A girlfriend, maybe?”

“Yeah. So Sam, Cass, Adam. Sam was the one who brought him in yesterday, but he took off and hasn’t been heard from since. The police are trying to find him because he had fresh blood practically dripping from one sleeve.”

“Oh, god. Well, this one’s quiet now, finally.”

“I hope so, we just gave him enough sedatives to take down a horse. It gets worse, doctor. Look outside.”

The doctor walked over to the big stretch of windows and looked down into the driveway of the hospital. Four police cars, all with lights flashing.

“Oh, fuck. Let me guess. This boy is the one they’ve been chasing around the island for two days.”

“Yep. Until a young man identifying himself only as Sam caught him and turned him in.”

“Who is Sam to him, exactly?”

“We don’t know yet."

All four people in the room turned their heads as more footsteps clattered down the hallway, and three men in uniforms stalked in. The one in front, a strikingly handsome and self-satisfied FBI officer, opened his coat and displayed a badge.

“Victor Hendrickson, FBI. That is Dean Winchester, correct?”

Everyone nodded, too stricken to speak by the appearance of four pairs of shiny handcuffs. Hendrickson stepped forward and examined the rails on the hospital bed, making sure they were enclosed and sturdy. Then he wordlessly slipped the metal rings over each of Dean’s motionless, clammy limbs, securely fastening him to the gurney.

“He’s unconscious?”

“Sedated, sir.”

“Okay. We’re gonna read him his rights, anyway. Officer, please do the honors.”

Hendrickson stood still as the rights were read out by a local police chief, chuckling in a sinister but amused fashion at the part stating Dean could choose to remain silent. Then he grew gravely serious when it was his turn to speak again.

“The ferry to the mainland will be here in two hours. Prepare him for transport.”

“Yes, sir,” said one of the doctors reluctantly. “Where are you taking him?”

“You’ll find out on the news tonight. In the meantime, do your job and keep him unconscious.”

“Sedated.”

“Whatever. You don’t want him waking up, trust me.”

Hendrickson disappeared, and the room fell silent as the man curtly ordered the local police officers to keep station in the hallway.

The nurse looked down at Dean, noting with interest boy’s face was still looking aggrieved and restless rather than peaceful, as it should have been with that much sedative.

“I think he can still hear us.”

“I know. Give him another 50mg, and cover up that satanic tattoo,” said the taller doctor. “Nobody needs to see that shit.”

The nurse obliged quickly. Underneath the white sheets and blanket that now covered all but his head and neck, Dean clenched his fists a little and fought valiantly to stay even minimally conscious. He lost the battle quickly; his eyelids fluttered open once and then closed tightly as all his remaining senses followed his eyesight into oblivion.


	2. January

January 2000 - 11 Months Before The Arrest

"Homework time, both of you," Dean commanded his brothers as he yanked two chairs out from the dining room table. “Adam, you’re not too old to spank from here to kingdom come if I have to repeat myself again. Sit down right here. Sam - you’re in this chair. I need to keep my eye on both of you tonight."

"Oh come on, Dean," moaned Adam good-naturedly, secure in the knowledge that it was an empty threat, as usual. Dean had never laid a hand on them in that manner before and certainly wasn’t about to start now.

"Yeah, come on. Our show is on in a few minutes. It’s the season finale," whined Sam.

"Well, Sammy, when you’re out screwing around instead of coming straight home, this is what happens. You’ve got to get your priorities in order. Besides, I already set it to record to watch it later, so quit your whining. Sit."

Both brothers caved at the same time and trudged over to the table, but they didn’t shrink back or try to make themselves smaller in the face of Dean’s annoyance. They weren’t afraid of him, not like other boys might be with a bossy, hard-nosed older brother with a proclivity for handing down ferocious lectures about duty and responsibility. No, he wasn’t to be feared. Respected and obeyed, yes, like a loving father despite being only four years older than both of them. A contradiction in terms, Dean was at once strict, patient, lenient, and relaxed. The worst punishment in his arsenal was the corner, which Sam and Dean had hated passionately since their earliest memories - in Sam’s case, he had despised it far more than being spanked by dad. Sometimes, all it took was Dean throwing a resigned glance into the corner to make him behave.

"What are you making for dinner, Dean?" asked Adam, his grief about missing his favorite show now completely forgotten as he sat down at the dining room table. Dean had purchased a fancy new VCR last week for the family despite severely limited finances, and it would be petty to complain about having to watch a recording later. They were lucky to have the option to record at all, because the elder Winchester would certainly have no qualms about making them miss the show altogether for not listening to his instructions to be home by four. They had wandered in around six thirty, with no excuse except they were with their girlfriends and lost track of time.

Adam opened his fat notebook and peeked over at what Sam was working on, which appeared to be...not related to school at all. He sighed and then repeated his call to his older brother.

"Dean?"

"Yes?"

"Sorry, not sure if you heard me. What are we having for dinner?"

Dean looked up from his book, where he had been worriedly studying the characteristics of ghouls. The outside of the book was a pasted-on Modern Mechanics Wiring Guide cover, but the inside was something else entirely, a tome of research privately left to him by John Winchester upon his death nearly four years ago, on Dean’s 18th birthday.

"Dinner? Oh. Lasagna."

"Again?" Adam said before he could stop himself.

"Yes, again. I don’t want it either, but it expires today. It’ll be ready in 40 minutes. What are you working on?"

"Chemistry. The characteristics of petroleum in seawater. Some dumb experiment we’re doing at the science fair."

"Hmmm," Dean murmured as he flipped a page while leaning up against the kitchen counter next to the sink. Ghouls could be killed through decapitation, then, like a lot of other monsters. That was good, he was used to that. It didn’t require any weird items he no longer had access to now that all his fellow hunters had been killed off at the roadhouse. Dean closed the book reluctantly and carried it with him to the phone to double check his schedule, as he always did every night, somewhat unnecessarily. He had only been late to one shift before when the schedule was printed wrong, and that was two years ago. Better safe than sorry, though.

"Hey, Charlie."

"Hey Dean! I was literally just dialing your number. Listen, I got a call for help from our affiliate in Salina, they’re really short on people Thursday and wondering if we have anyone extra who can make it over. You’re off Thursday and they’d pay you time and a half-"

"I’ll do it. Thanks for asking me first before anyone else.

"Yeah, well I know you could use the money. You familiar with them? They service the same kind of cars we do, so it shouldn’t be too much of a transition."

Dean nodded, then swallowed thickly. He and dad had killed off a vamp’s nest that had entrenched itself in an abandoned storage bunker at the end of the junk car storage lot there, many years ago.

"I’m good. Thanks Charlie. What time?"

"7am shift. I’ll let them know. Oh, tomorrow you’re scheduled to be here at 8."

"Great, thanks."

They said their goodbyes, and Dean set the phone down then turned to his brothers. “I’m working Thursday now. I’ll change the calendar."

As he walked over to the big wall calendar with pictures of tropical islands on it, he heard Adam vaguely whine about what he just said.

"What’s wrong, Adam? You’ll be at school anyway."

"That’s my science fair day."

Dean picked up the Sharpie and wrote DEAN - 7AM SALINA across the date in question in sloppy capital letters, then recapped the marker and set it back down on top of the old cardboard box of Post-It notes.

"You said it was just a dumb experiment anyway. Wait a sec...am I even invited?"

"Well yeah, duh!"

Dean sighed and picked his fake book back up.

"You didn’t tell me. Too late now. Besides, it’s time and a half. We need the money."

"Dad would have gone," Sam murmured bitterly. “He always put us before money."

Crap, there it was. Sam’s weekly ‘but dad woulda’ statement. Dean raised an eyebrow and closed his book again irritably. “What did I tell you about making comments like that to me?"

"Dean-"

"Be quiet, Adam. Sam? Explain yourself."

Sam’s face clearly indicated he deeply regretted his choice of words, but he was too proud to apologize. As always.

"He didn’t mean it, Dean," Adam put in gently. “He never does, he’s just shooting his mouth off again. It’s okay if you can’t go-"

"Shooting his mouth off? You guys are 16 and 17 years old, way old enough to control yourselves. Hey...what are you doing over there?"

He stalked over as Adam quickly covered the sheet of paper he’d been doodling all over for ten minutes in lieu of his alleged science project.

"Um. Nothing. He hastily flipped open his chemistry book. Sorry."

"Nothing. Exactly."

Dean looked down at Sam, who clearly wasn’t studying, either. Dean yanked the comic book out from under the notebook, rolled it up, and smacked Sam on his bare upper arm with it, hard.

"Owwwww," Sam complained petulantly, immediately reaching up to rub the sting away as Adam laughed at him.

Dean really wasn’t in the mood for these shenanigans, at all. Not after the shit day he’d had, what with the pulled shoulder he was still nursing from tugging too hard to get a panel open on an ancient Chrysler that spent more time in the shop than it did on the road. Worst of all was how Sam’s comments about dad stung him hard, what with the knowledge that John had never made a single dollar honestly, whereas Dean worked his ass off for every single penny.

"Sorry, Dean," they said together, somewhat sheepishly.

"Not good enough. In a corner until dinner, both of you.” He pointed to the television with the rolled up comic book. “And now you don’t get to watch your show until Saturday, not tonight - if you behave for the rest of the week, that is. Move out before I tan both your hides with this damned comic book."

Empty threat or not, they knew better than to roll their eyes at each other or make a verbal protest, but that didn’t stop them from wanting to complain, as their subtle body language indicated quite clearly. Dean stood there, stone-faced and fuming, as the teenagers got up and made their way to their traditional corners in bleak resignation.

As soon as they got there, though, Dean’s anger evaporated, and he became thoroughly sorry for losing his temper. He was not the least bit satisfied about his brothers’ current predicament, and how could he be? Now they got to put off doing their homework for another 35 minutes or so, which made no statement whatsoever except that the eldest Winchester was not exactly a shining example of how to keep one’s priorities in order, either. He turned back to the oven, feeling like the keen hypocrite that he was, and willed the damned thing to cook faster. Maybe it would, if he turned the heat up just a bit…by like fifty degrees…

He turned the knob and sat back, pouting silently with crossed arms. They were good kids, and he’d overreacted. Again. Sam was a handful, yes, but most 17 year olds were. Adam wasn’t bad, though. Only five months younger but a full school grade behind Sam, he carried less of a history with Dean, having only been inherited by him a few years ago upon John’s death and officially adopted last year. Save for his lingering resentment towards John about having grown up separately from his older brothers, he didnt have any problems that normal teenagers had, for which Dean was infinitely grateful.

But damn it. Now the normally happy, noisy apartment was depressingly silent and melancholy. Dean turned the stove up even higher, then picked Sam’s comic book up and idly flipped through it until Adam piped up a few minutes later to exclaim that he _definitely_ smelled something burning.

=======

"Yup. Burned. Crap."

"It’s fine in the middle," Adam said graciously as he grabbed a spatula and cut into the non- charred center. “Don’t worry about it. Is there a salad for Sam?"

"Damn it.” Dean couldn’t do anything right today, as preoccupied as he was with identifying what the hell was causing so much trouble at a neighbors farm. Most likely a ghoul, yes, but...maybe not. It didn’t quite make sense.

He pulled out the package of lettuce and grabbed the dressing just as Sam emerged from the bathroom, pulling his hair back into the little ponytail that Dean absolutely hated, but quietly put up with, because - well, it was the hypocrisy thing again. He thought of his three mediocre tattoos that Sam hated, and willed himself not to mention the damned hair again. It wasn’t a big deal, and at least it was temporary.

A minute later the three young men were seated comfortably at the big, round thrift store table, and Sam took their hands to fulfill his nightly insistence on saying grace. Even over burned lasagna and a hastily thrown together wilted salad.

It was so ironic, though. Grace. What grace? God was gone, a villain, actually - but Sam didn’t know that. Nobody did, except Dean and any other hunters that might still be alive at this point. If there were any, Dean didn’t know about them. Even Bobby was out of the picture now, shot in the chest during a hunt gone awry. And Ellen, and Jo…

"You should say it tonight in Latin, Dean. It’s been a while. Guess you’ve forgotten how."

Dean opened his eyes to find Sam peeking out at him mischeviously. “Of course not. The ladies love my Roman accent, just for the record. Benedic, Domine, nos et haec tua dona, quae de tua largitate sumus sumpturi, per Christum Dominum nostrum . Amen and pass the salad."

"Dean," moaned Sam, slightly scandalized.

Adam took up his fork and looked at his brother curiously. “How come you’re so good at Latin, when you don’t even have the chance to use it? I can’t even remember the Spanish I learned last week."

Dean had to fight to swallow down the pasta in his suddenly dry throat.

"How do you know I’m good at it? Maybe I’m just talking nonsense. Who ever heard of a Latin-speaking grease monkey, anyway?"

======

"Dean?"

Dean slammed his book closed, tossed it under his pillow, and flopped onto his back.

"Yeah Sammy. Come in."

The door creaked open, and Dean sat up and slowly dangled his legs over the side of the bed. An apology was incoming; Sam’s puppy dog face was as readable as a teleprompter sometimes.

"Finished my homework. Adam, too."

"Good. You can watch your show, then."

"No, we, um...thanks, but we’ll watch it Saturday."

Dean was nearly speechless in his surprise. “Why?"

Sam shrugged. “Because you said so. I didn’t come to ask you that anyway. I…"

Dean nodded in resignation. “I know you’re sorry for what you said about dad. Again. We go through this every week, Sam. I’m getting tired of it."

Puppy dog eyes intensified. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again."

"You say that every week, too. Sam, dad wasn’t a shining beacon of goodness and light. We’ve talked about this before. How I’m doing my absolute best for you and Adam by living honestly and above board. It barely manages to pay the bills, but at least I can sleep at night."

"Honestly ? Are you sure?"

Dean froze. Danger. What the hell did Sam mean by that, in _that_ tone?

"Go to bed, Sam. School tomorrow."

"Dean, I just...something’s been bugging me all day. I called the shop last night and you weren’t there. They said you weren’t on the schedule.

_Oh, fuck. Red alert._ “Why’d you call the shop?"

"I don’t know. I just...something told me to check on you. I got worried, but I can’t tell you why. Why did you tell us you were working, when you weren’t?"

Dean swallowed hard. “I was working. Just not at the shop. I have a second job, Sammy. Didn’t tell you guys, because I didn’t want to make you feel guilty."

Sam looked sorry he asked now, and Dean was glad. It wasn’t exactly a lie, either, so Dean was free of guilt as well. For the moment.

"Okay. Where? What do you do? What if I need to get a hold of you?"

"It’s a freelance gig and I never really know where I’ll be each time. That’s all I’m gonna say."

Sam looked petrified suddenly. “Is it...is it legal ? You can tell me that, at least?"

"Yes," Dean lied. “Well, except that I don’t report that income on my taxes. That’s why I gotta keep it on the down low. So I guess you were right to call me out for my honesty, but at least I’m not stealing identities and defrauding people left and right, like dad did. Don’t compare me to him ever again. I bust my ass to keep a solid roof over our heads, do you understand me? He was a criminal and a liar. Nothing like me."

Properly chastised now, all Sam could do was nod mutely.

"Going to bed now. Love you, Sammy. Dean burrowed under his covers. Goodnight."

"Night. Love you too, Dean. Thank you for everything you do for us."

Dean’s eyes welled up instantly, but he fought back his emotion as Sam left the room and quietly shut the door. He waited for a few minutes until the apartment fell silent again, got up to lock his bedroom door, then climbed back in bed, reopened his book, and carefully bookmarked the passage on ghouls as he glanced out the window. A perfect, brightly moonlit night, but still no chance at all to sneak out to go hunting, not with his sore shoulder. Maybe tomorrow he’d take his brothers to the movie theater and head out for a bit after explaining that he wasn’t interested in seeing the film. If the weather held, anyway.

He fell to sleep fairly quickly, but as usual, his dreams were vivid and cursed with flashbacks of things he’d killed, or failed to kill, and the faces of those who were no longer walking the mortal earth. In the morning, as usual, he struggled to wake up and barely had time to bid his brothers goodbye before he raced to the Impala and hit the road to get the shop by 7:45am.

In his haste, he’d forgotten to lock his bedroom door again, and the corner of dad’s journal was peeking out a little from underneath his pillow when Adam went in to make sure the window was tightly shut before the incoming thunderstorm hit.


	3. February

**February - 10 months before the arrest**

"Whatcha doin’ Sammy?" Dean asked loudly as he swept up behind his brother at the dining room table and smacked his wallet and phone down on the kitchen counter.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam breathed as he grabbed dramatically at his chest and gasped. “Could you maybe warn a man before you sneak up behind him?"

"Scared ya, huh? Does that mean you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing?"

"No!” Sam slammed his notebook shut and turned around to scowl up at his brother. Dean laughed, then clapped him on the shoulder and grinned.

"Guess what came?"

He held out a piece of mail to Sam, who snatched it as he jumped to his feet and gasped again. “Oh my god. It’s not just one page," Sam murmured as he felt the thickness of the envelope.

"Nope. Where’s Adam? I want him to be here to see this."

"Wait, Dean. Stop. What if it’s not what I think it is?"

"It is, I guarantee it. Adam!” Dean yelled as he walked over to the second bedroom and banged on the door. “Come out. Your brother’s life is about to change."

"Oh god," Sam moaned. “Seriously? Jump the gun much?"

"Shhh. Don’t open it yet. _Adam_!"

The door popped open after a few moments and a very sleepy, grumpy young man peeked around the corner. “Lemme guess. You’re finally getting laid, Dean?"

"Oh shut up," Dean grumbled as he reached out affectionately and ruffled Adam’s hair, which was getting way too long for his liking. “The letter came. Sam’s news. Come on."

That was all it took to convince the youngest Winchester, who immediately perked up and made his way up to a suddenly gloomy Sam, who looked like he’d rather eat the piece of mail than open it.

"Did you get-” Adam began.

"I don’t know," Sam said quickly. Maybe not. Don’t get excited. It could be...it could be nothing."

"Or everything," Dean prompted. “Whatever it is, we’re here to support you. Open it."

Sam took a deep breath and turned the letter around at least three times to examine it from all angles, as if that would answer the question without having to break the seal. After a minute or so of this Adam started to say something rude out of impatience, but was stopped by a firm hand squeezing his shoulder, an unspoken warning to stay quiet. Dean always knew what Adam was thinking; it was truly supernatural sometimes.

Sam didn’t open it after all, though. He folded it and put it in his back pocket, then looked past his two brothers rather than straight at them.

"I...I wanna open it myself. Okay?"

Dean instantly felt his heart crush like a soda can in a strong fist, but he forced himself not to change his expression as he squeezed Adam’s shoulder yet again to keep him from opening his mouth.

"Sammy, we’re rooting for you. We’ve _been_ rooting for you, for months. Years. Today’s the day, and you’re gonna just make us wait?"

"Yeah, it’s my day, Dean. Like you said. Not yours," Sam huffed as he turned and disappeared into the bedroom he shared with Adam, and locked the door behind him with a loud click. Dean released Adam and turned to pick his keys up off the counter.

"Go take a walk, Adam," he ordered stiffly, and then threw his brother a look as if daring him to disobey. He pulled out the key that unlocked the bedroom door and spun it around and around between his fingers while waiting for Adam to reappear in his shoes and jacket.

"Go easy on him, Dean," Adam pleaded when he reappeared. “He’s been through a lot."

Dean snorted, but made no other reply. Adam sighed and gave up the fight, knowing from four years of experience that Dean was impossible to talk to when in this particular mood.

"How far do you want me to walk, then?"

Dean picked up his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. “The usual. Can you grab us some pizza?"

"Sure.” Adam walked over and took the bill, then opened his mouth again but was thwarted instantly.

" _Don’t._ Just go."

Adam went, although not without a dramatic roll of his eyes. Dean waited a minute more, then walked to the bedroom door and opened it. Sam was sitting on the bed with the open letter in his hands, frowning. Dean had a very serious rule in place about locking doors in the apartment in anger, but he had no intention of calling his brother out on it right now. Sam knew that rule well, and he cared little for it. All this had happened before, and would happen again.

Dean walked in and closed the door behind him, then waited silently. Finally, after at least two minutes of ignoring his brother, Sam looked up, his shoulders tense.

"I got in," he said flatly, shrugging as if he didn’t give a shit. Which was far from the truth, of course.

"Good," Dean replied simply. “Don’t even think about not going."

"Knew you were gonna say that. You can’t force me. It’s my decision."

Dean didn’t move a muscle, but he was pretty sure his heart was visibly pounding through his shirt. “Sammy, you started talking about going to Stanford when you were five years old-"

"Well, I’m not five anymore. This is stupid. I’m not leaving you guys."

"Yes, you are. You’ve been waiting for this day forever. You should have seen your face light up when I told you that letter was here. College is gonna be fun, you’ll forget about us in no time."

"Fun, right,” Sam huffed. “You would know, what with all the quality time you’ve spent in college? Oh, wait."

Dean winced. That was a really low blow, even for Sam.

"Nice. Appreciate that."

"This is dumb! We can’t afford it anyway.” Sam angrily ripped the letter in half and then in quarters. Dean moved now - twice the speed that he usually did - and snatched the remnants of the acceptance letter out of Sam’s hands.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Dean fumed as he shook the pieces in his brother’s face. “Do you know how many kids are holding rejection letters in their hands right now, having a meltdown for different reasons? A shitload more than those who got acceptance letters, that’s for sure, and they’d all love to be you right now. Stop being an idiot!"

"I’m not going," Sam replied stubbornly. “I’m gonna take your suggestion. Take some time off, get a job, maybe go to a community college for a couple years, then transfer when I figure out what I want to do."

"That was my suggestion long before you told me you applied at freakin’ Stanford. Like years ago! Get student loans, that’s what they’re for. Scholarships, grants, work study. We’ll find a way.” Dean walked over to Adam’s desk and picked up a roll of Scotch tape. “I’m putting this back together, and you’re gonna sign it and fax it back today because you’re going to Stanford."

"No, I’m not."

"Yes, you are."

Dean bent over and studiously began applying four pieces of tape at strategic points of the letter, hoping that they wouldn’t show up on the fax to be sent back to the admissions office. When he was done, he turned around to reassure Sam again. But the generosity and hope in his heart was suddenly gone, morphed entirely into indignation with a generous helping of fear.

"Need to ask you something," he spit out. “What was I doing in lieu of college?"

"I…"

"What. Was. I. Doing. In. Lieu. Of. College," Dean repeated with a growl.

Sam turned red and started to fidget. “Calm down."

"Calm down?" Dean stepped forward and shoved the reconstructed letter into Sam’s chest, then pushed him backwards more roughly that he intended, but it still felt disturbingly good. “You want me to calm down? After you’ve disrespected me again for the hundredth time in the past year, at least? Answer the question!"

"You-you-you were taking care of me and Adam," Sam sputtered helplessly.

"How?"

"Um. Working. Two jobs now, I guess."

Dean moved closer, but kept his hands to himself this time. “What else?"

"I...Dean, I get it, okay? Stop. I’m sorry. You’ve done a lot."

"Yeah. And you’ve forgotten all the stuff I haven’t done. Dating. Going out with friends. Literally anything but having fun. For you, and your brother, so you don’t have to follow in my footsteps. And you’re just going to throw this letter away and...and do what? Study underwater basket weaving at some cheap-ass community college that doesn’t give a shit about you? And how are you going to pay for that, ‘cuz I sure as hell ain’t!"

Sam was overflowing in tears now, and Dean was finally satisfied enough to back off and lower his voice.

"You didn’t apply anywhere else, correct?"

"No," Sam sniffed.

"And it’s too late, right?"

Sam nodded, his face a picture of misery.

"Okay. Sign that letter and go get in the car. I’ll drive you over to the library to fax it."

"Dean-"

"Sign it.” Dean picked up a pen from Adam’s desk and handed it over. “I’m sorry I shoved you, Sammy. Not cool, won’t happen again."

Sam took the pen, but didn’t meet his brother’s eyes. “Where’s Adam?"

"I sent him to get pizza. Hurry up so we can intercept him and go somewhere nice for dinner to celebrate."

"Celebrate?" Sam murmured. “Dean, you're not getting it. I don’t want to leave you guys! What part of that don’t you understand? Fuck! This is so messed up."

Dean took a deep breath and forced himself to acknowledge that he didn’t want Sam to leave, either. Time for an executive decision; it was a make-or-break moment.

"Fine. I hear you, Sam. Look, I can be a mechanic anywhere. If you want, we’ll move to California with you. Somewhere nearby, but I guarantee you we can’t afford any place within an hour of Palo Alto. Maybe two. But we'll come visit you a lot."

Sam was speechless.

"However," Dean added, “I’m gonna leave this up to Adam. Because he’s gonna be the one experiencing the most disruption. You and I both know how much it fucking sucks to change schools, and if he doesn’t want to start his senior year somewhere new, we’re staying here. We’ll ask him tonight, and it’s going to be his decision. Not yours. I swear to god if you try to influence him I’m gonna take my belt off and go John Winchester on your ass, and I won’t give a shit how old you are."

"Alright, alright," Sam conceded, holding his hands in front of him in a surrender gesture. “You ask him, then. I won’t even be in the room. You can just tell me what he says. And what he says, goes. Okay?"

"Agreed. After we fax that letter. Sign it.” Dean crossed his arms, and Sam obediently turned around and laid it on his desk, but he didn’t uncap the pen.

"Tell me what your second job is first."

"What?"

"You heard me.” Sam was stone-faced now.

Dean swallowed hard. He knew that look. There was no creature in the world more stubborn than a curious Sam Winchester, and damn the consequences. There was literally no hope of getting that letter signed if he didn’t get an answer, end of story.

"You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you," Dean answered lamely, somewhat in a panic.

"Try me. And don’t tell me it’s legal. I’m not an idiot. Stanford material, remember?"

Dean felt like passing out from how fast his heart was racing. He’d been prepared for this moment, and had his answer ready, but...fuck, no, he wasn’t prepared at all.

"Dean?"

"I’m...Sam, I really don’t want you to think less of me. Shit. That’s why I haven’t told you."

"Unless you’re pimping yourself out, I’ll be fine."

Dean laughed a little, purely out of stress and fear. “Yeah, no. Not that bad. I’m helping out a bounty hunter, Sam. Learning the trade, actually. That’s all I’m gonna say."

"A...a bounty hunter? That explains a lot. The guns. All that shooting practice. They’re not just for our protection, are they?"

Dean shook his head.

"You ever kill anybody?" Sam looked and sounded like a scared little kid suddenly.

"Hell no," Dean lied. “That’s not the point, anyway. Totally the opposite of what you want. Bring ‘em in alive and the money’s real good. Dead, not so much. Most of it is just tracking them from a distance and reporting their movements so the police can grab them. It’s pretty safe. And fun as hell, not gonna lie. Like a real-life video game."

"Who do you work with?"

"Not telling you that. But he’s legit. And the police are aware of what we’re doing."

"Okay.” Sam seemed to be in shock. “But bounty hunting is legal, right?"

"Yes it is. But for fuck’s sake, do not tell Adam about this. I trust you, Sammy."

Sam swallowed hard, then turned around to sign his letter. He didn’t look at his brother as he folded it back up in the envelope.

"I’m ready. Let’s go. I don’t...Dean, I don’t feel like celebrating. Pizza’s fine."

"Okay. Good, let’s go. Stanford, holy shit. I can’t believe their mascot is a tree, though. So dumb."

Sam went out of the room and Dean followed him silently, not even sure his heart was still beating. He dared not glance at the safe under the sink, to which only he held the combination. He resolved to change it again in case Sam tried to figure it out. The kid was Stanford material, after all.

Dean opened the front door and took out his car keys, then tried not to cry as his brother trudged to the passenger door and got in the Impala. That car held such memories. He didn’t miss dad, no - far from it - but he couldn’t help but picture his face every time Sam got angry. Those two were so different, it was hardly believable that they’d been father and son sometimes.

But Dean? Definitely a product of John Winchester. He knew it well, and it scared the hell out of him sometimes. He adjusted his belt briefly, flushing with shame again at the thought of his most recent urge to use it on Sam. But no - he wasn’t John. And he never would be, no matter what happened.


	4. March

March - 9 months before the arrest

It was 11am on a freezing cold March day and all that could be seen of Dean were his boots sticking out from underneath an old Chrysler LeBaron. The type that had cheesy “wood” paneling along the side and a chronically malfunctioning convertible top. _Not to mention all the other things that are wrong with such a piece of junk_ , Dean grumbled to himself as he wiped another drip of oil off his face.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Dean felt a foot nudge his boots, so he set the wrench down and pushed himself out from under the car. “What’s up?”

Garth handed him the cordless phone, which had a battery so old that calls could only go on for about thirty seconds before the thing died. Dean wiped his hands on his flannel shirt and snatched up the receiver in haste so that he wouldn’t irritate one of his clients by keeping them waiting.

“Good morning, this is Dean Winchester.”

“Hey. It’s me.”

Dean leaped to his feet and stole a quick glance at Garth, then disappeared behind a support column in the garage and tried not to let his galloping heart get the best of him.

“What’s wrong? You guys okay?”

“Not really. We, ummm...”

“Spit it out,” Dean commanded. “I’m at work.”

 _Pause_. “Adam and I are getting sent home from school. They said you gotta come get us.”

Dean glanced at the clock and cursed inwardly. “It’s not even 11am, Sammy. I’ve got five hours to go here. What happened?”

“Long story. You’ve gotta come sign us out or we have to just sit here in detention until you get here.”

“Good, then sit there. I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to, anyway. But I asked what happened, and I expect you to answer me.”

No answer.

“Sam?”

Dean waited a few seconds longer, then looked at the handset again. Dead. Fuck.

“I’m gonna kill ‘em,” Dean grumbled as he returned to the office and handed the phone to Charlie. 

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah. No. Is Mr. Crowley here? I need to make a call.”

“Yep, just walked in,” Charlie confirmed quietly as she kept typing, carefully keeping her eyes on her computer monitor. Nothing for it, then. Dean had to go back to work ASAP. He returned to his rolling board and laid down on it, then cursed his brothers a few more times before getting back to work.

\-----

“Dean?”

“Yes, sir?” Dean answered respectfully, hands behind his back, as he spoke to his boss.

“Personal calls at work are not allowed, as you know.”

“Yes, I know, sir,” Dean answered politely, his gaze held captive by the sight of Crowley rolling two steel balls around in his palm, as usual. Around, and around again, swish swish swish. It was utterly hypnotizing, and the man knew it.

“Well, then?” Crowley asked impatiently, throwing the empty hand in the air in a questioning gesture. Dean wasn’t afraid of this man, but he hated him passionately. Especially because he needed this job desperately and had absolutely no safety net or recourse if things went wrong.

“This time it was urgent. It was my brother calling from his school. He got sent home sick with a high fever.”

Crowley smiled mischievously. “And calling you here is going to do what to lower his temperature, exactly? Are you perhaps a teledoc on the side?”

Dean swallowed hard. “The school nurse made me authorize his release.”

“Hmm. Dean, you do realize I have a second handset here and listen in to my calls, right? And yes, they are all my calls, not yours. I need to ensure that our customers feel cared for and valued. Quality assurance, and all that jazz.”

Dean flushed hotly. No, he didn’t realize Crowley listened in. _Fuck this dude, for real._

“I...but…”

Crowley smiled again, and Dean’s skin crawled a little. “You can go. Don’t bother coming in for the next three days, though, because that’s how long I’m suspending you without pay. Lie to me again, and you’re out for good. Ta-ta for now.”

\----------

Dean was silent on the way home with his two errant brothers in the backseat. Not only just silent, but so damned quiet that he seemed to create a black hole effect that sucked in the sounds of the Impala, the road, and everything else. Sam and Adam would later swear that they could hear each other’s hearts beating in the few miles ride between the school and the apartment.

“Go inside,” Dean ordered curtly as he pulled up in front of the apartment complex and threw the car in park.

“You’re not coming in?” Sam asked shakily.

Dean threw an arm over the seat and stared back at his middle brother. “What part of _go inside_ are you not understanding?”

“The part where you’re just dumping us off,” Sam answered stiffly. “Where are you going?”

Dean inflated his lungs to yell at Sam, but Adam interrupted him hastily.

“Dean, we’re getting out. Calm down.” Adam popped open his door and leaped out, then looked back in. “Sam, come on. _Sam_!”

Sam finally got out, slowly, but he wasn’t happy about it. Especially when Dean floored it and took off, all but leaving his brothers in the dust. He didn’t return for four hours, but when he did, he had $350 in his pocket from hustling pool. Just enough to replace the three days of work he’d lost, which was good. His self respect, however? Not so good. When he finally parked at home and opened the front door, he was ready for battle, half-expecting to be confronted by two angry young boys who hadn’t made themselves dinner, done their homework, or cleaned up after themselves.

The place was oddly quiet, though, and smelled vaguely of tomato sauce. Just as Dean began to take off his jacket, Adam came quietly padding out to the living room, looking uncharacteristically anxious.

“We made dinner. Want me to heat it up for you?”

Dean almost said no, that he filled up on bar food; but Adam’s expression was so earnest that he couldn’t bring himself to shoot the poor kid down.

“Sounds good, thanks. Did you guys do your homework?”

“Yes. We want to tell you what happened at school-”

“Not right now.” Dean kicked off his boots. “Go to bed when you’re done in the kitchen.”

“Sam and I were fighting,” Adam said anyway, ignoring the dismissal. “We’re good now. But my thr-”

He stopped when Dean held up a hand to quiet him. “Fighting? After all the times I’ve warned you? Go to bed. _Now._ Not another word, or else.”

Adam looked crushed. “But Dean, my th-”

“In the corner, then. Half an hour.”

Adam didn’t move, and at the sound of a light cough Dean spun around in dismay to find Sam silently watching him from the doorway of the bedroom.

“You too, Sam,” he ordered irritably. “Afterwards, as the older brother in this mess, you get the honor of explaining to me what the hell happened. I’d expect this from you, gotta admit, but Adam..?”

“Thanks, Dean. Appreciate the vote of confidence,” Sam replied bitterly, crossing his arms. “Adam is sick. I tried to make him go to the nurse’s office and he wouldn’t, so we began arguing about it and some dumbass overzealous counselor took us both to the assistant principal. Mr. Turner, you remember him? That’s literally what our alleged _fight_ was about. There was no hitting or anything.”

Dean looked at Adam, astonished that he hadn’t noticed the dark circles under the kid’s eyes earlier, and his reddened cheeks and raspy voice. “What the hell? Why didn’t you say something?”

Adam shot him a scandalized look. “You wouldn’t let me talk!”

“He needs to go to urgent care,” Sam insisted loudly.

“We can’t afford it,” Adam repeated in frustration. “But I think I have tonsillitis or something. My throat is killing me.”

“I was trying to explain on the phone,” Sam insisted to Dean. “But you hung up on me.”

Dean turned around and set his boots upright again on the floor, then stuffed one foot in at a time. “The phone died, I didn’t hang up. Why the hell didn’t you tell me during the drive home?”

“I was afraid you’d throw me out of the car if I opened my mouth!”

Dean might have, too, considering his mood at the time.

”Shit. I made you stay there for all those hours...Adam, wash your hands thoroughly and go get in the car. Put on a jacket. Sam, you stay here.”

“I want to go.”

“No, I need you to stay here to sanitize all the hard surfaces just in case he’s contagious. Use bleach and wear the gloves under the sink. Then write up exactly what happened today. Don’t leave anything out, and don’t exaggerate.”

Sam’s face was white with anxiety. “But...I-I didn’t do anything wrong, Dean. I was trying to help.”

“I know, thank you. This isn’t a punishment, Sammy. I really need your help again right now, especially with getting the facts written down, because tomorrow I’m going over to the damned school to read them the riot act for putting a sick kid in detention. Fuckers!”

\--------------

“So as you can see, sir, my brother _was_ sick. The phone call you listened in on wasn’t the whole story, which I got later, but you wouldn’t let me explain.”

Dean was sweating as Crowley examined the doctor’s note excusing Adam from school for a week for strep throat. Highly contagious. No doubt Sam would be next, then Dean himself. A hell of a crappy diagnosis, but at least the coincidence might save him now. 

“Alright,” Crowley eventually said reluctantly as he handed the note back. “You can work. Suspension canceled.”

“Thank you, sir. I also need to request a paycheck advance again, if...if you don’t mind. His bill was almost $600.”

“Jesus, where did you take him? The Mayo Clinic?”

“I’d also like to ask your permission for Charlie to call around and see if any other garages need me as a replacement on my days off. Please, sir.” Dean fucking hated begging, but he only had twelve cents in the bank right now after paying the $500+ from his pool hustling money and what was left in the checking account. No doubt there would be more doctor bills to come, too.

Crowley thought about it for a while, and Dean was absolutely certain he’d say no. 

“How much of an advance do you need?”

“Three hundred should be more than enough.”

“What’s _exactly_ enough?”

Dean mentally did the math. “One hundred and fifty for our weekly rent due Thursday, fifty for groceries. Plus twenty bucks for gas.”

Crowley reached into his wallet and pulled out $220, then handed it to Dean, who froze and didn’t move to take it.

“It...sir, it should be done with the right paperwork signed first. I can’t accept this.”

“Alright.” Crowley shrugged. “That will take a few days. If you prefer to get evicted, then-”

“Wait. I…” Dean reached out and took the cash even as his entire body resisted the movement. 

“You’re welcome?” Crowley prompted.

“Thank you, sir,” Dean sputtered. “I’m sorry, I was just surprised. Um. You’ll have it back in two weeks.”

“Ten days.”

“Ten days, yes, sir. Can Charlie call around for me?”

“No. You have a phone at home. Do it on your own time. Go to work.”

The phone had been shut off last week for non-payment of the bill, but Dean didn’t say that. 

“One more thing before I go, Mr. Crowley. If my brothers ever call here, it’s for a good reason. An actual emergency. And I will take those calls every time, because they’re kids, and they’re my responsibility. Even if it costs me my job. Just so you know, sir.”

“Noted. And just so _you_ know, Mr. Winchester, I won’t be granting you a pay advance without interest ever again.”

“Understood. May I go back to work now?”

Dean didn’t wait for an answer; he left the office and went straight into the bathroom, where he locked himself in a toilet stall, held tightly on to the $220, and silently cried his heart out for ten minutes straight.

\----------------------------------------

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked worriedly as he went into the bedroom his brothers shared to check on Adam.

“Hot. Can’t swallow. Stomach hurts now, too.”

“That’s from the antibiotics. Hang in there, they’ll kick in fast. I just got home from your school. Before picking up Sam, I went in and told everyone off about the whole thing. Including Mr. Turner. I was pissed.”

“Not like they could do anything anyway,” Adam mumbled. “You never called back to check on us.”

“I know.”

“Like, what if we were dying? Or kidnapped!”

Dean sighed. “Adam, settle down please. I already feel bad enough without you adding to the guilt trip. When we-”

Dean froze, his heart stalling suddenly. He bent over and shoved Adam’s arm aside a moment later and yanked dad’s journal out from where it was just barely visible underneath the pillow; a millimeter of the distinctive red textbook poking out. No wonder Adam was so startled to see his brother come in.

“What the hell! You took this from my room?” Dean demanded in a half-yell, causing his brother to cringe away.

“You came home early!”

“I... _what_? Jesus Christ. If you weren’t so sick, I’d...never mind. Defend yourself, if possible. Now.”

Adam buried his face in his pillow, and Dean stood up in disgust a few moments later. He couldn’t help himself; before he even realized what he was doing he took a good grip on the big book and smacked it down hard on Adam’s upturned butt.

“Ow! Dean!” Adam yelped as he reached behind him to rub the sting out. “Stop. I’m sorry!”

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be. I told you to never, _ever_ go into my room. It’s been a standing order for years. Not only did you do that, but you’re taking my stuff out, too? What the hell is the matter with you?”

“With me? How about you? That’s dad’s writing,” Adam replied, his voice heavily muffled by the bedding. “Why are you hiding it?”

“Because he left it for me. It’s _mine_. How did you even get in there?” Dean demanded.

Adam didn’t reply, and Dean sighed as he saw the kid’s shoulder’s start to shake. _Great_.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered. “Never expected you of all people to sink so low. The corner obviously isn’t cutting it anymore, so I’m going to have to resort to more drastic measures to force you to take the rules seriously. We’ll talk about it after you’re well again.”

“Noooo,” Adam moaned.

“Yes. Does Sam know about this book, too?”

_Sniffle._

“Adam!”

“Um. Yeah.”

Dean shook his head. “You’re about to turn seventeen, for god’s sake. Old enough to know better than to sneak around like a common criminal. I’m so disappointed in you. In Sam, too, but I’ll take that up with him.”

Dean left the bedroom angrily and went to lock his book in the safe, but as usual, the damned thing didn’t want to fit. He forced it in anyway, locked the safe back up, and turned around to find Sam watching him with a dark, semi-awed expression.

“Did you just...did you _spank_ Adam?”

Dean stood up and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. “We’ll talk about this after he gets better. Not before then. I’m way too pissed off right now, and I need to start dinner. Stay out of my way.”

—————

Dean’s anger about his brothers’ intrusion didn’t lessen at all over the following days, it only grew, and he soon realized that by the time Adam was better he’d be all but ready to strangle both of the brats half to death. Thankfully Sam had done an excellent job keeping all the hard surfaces sanitized to avoid spreading the virus, and no one else got sick - but it took nearly ten days for Adam to get back to normal.

In the meantime he had been apologizing to his oldest brother on a daily basis, obviously hoping to get out of the promised consequences, but Dean was having none of it. They didn’t discuss it, either, until Dean was driving Adam to get a tetanus shot after he’d stepped on a large, rusty nail while walking home from his first day back at school.

“Dean?”

“Yes?”

“How come you never told us dad was writing a book when he died?”

Dean nearly slammed on the brakes at that, but he stopped himself just in time. “Stop messing with that bandage. We’re almost there.”

“Nice change of subject,” Adam complained as he defiantly fussed with the gauze and tape again, while Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Because it’s stupid. I’m starting to think he really thought ghosts and shit exist.”

“Sam and I read comic books, Dean. Like, obsessively.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Adam sighed. “Well, we don’t hide them from you, do we? I mean...it’s just weird. It’s not stupid to write about _ghosts and shit_. Same thing as following superheroes, or talking animals.”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m just saying, hiding it is super weird. You put it inside a textbook to read it even though you say it’s stupid. Sam saw you putting it in the safe. It doesn’t make sense, that’s all. We’ve never seen you read anything else.”

Dean pulled into the parking lot for the clinic and threw his car into park, then looked aside at his brother.

“I read a lot, actually. You’ve seen all the books in my room by now. How did you get in, by the way?”

Adam shrugged. “The knob. There’s a latch to prevent it from locking. I took a screwdriver and-”

“Yeah, I know how it works. Next question: why?”

More silence, in which Adam fussed with his bandage again, so Dean reached over and irritably smacked his hand away.

“I said leave it alone. We’re going inside in a second. Forget the book. Why did you guys break into my room in the first place? You know I appreciate the fact that you’re always honest with me. So just tell me what’s up and I’ll do my best to calm down.”

It was true; Adam was always on the level with Dean. He occasionally did stupid things he tried to hide before admitting them anyway without prompting, but he had never _outright_ told a lie.

“Because you’re so secretive about everything! I feel like I barely know you. It’s been four years, but you never want to...just forget it. It’s stupid. I don’t care. I’ll be out of the house in a year and then you can do whatever weird mysterious stuff that you want.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. He was numb from head to toe, and very tired. “Year and a half,” he finally mumbled.

Adam scoffed. “I’m not trying to get out of being punished, but I know what you have in mind and I’m not gonna let you do it.”

“Oh really, what’s that?”

“Well, I know you regret smacking me with the book. So there’s no way you’re actually gonna use a belt on us. I’m gonna call your bluff and prove it.”

“Hmmmm. You’re gonna be sorely disappointed, kiddo. Emphasis on _sorely_.”

Adam looked scared suddenly. “So you’re just going to beat my ass when we get home, and then we’re square and I can exist again?”

“Not quite. I’m gonna wait until _tomorrow_ to do it, but otherwise you’re spot on. Let’s go inside.”

\-------------------

Early the next morning Dean walked into their room holding a large stack of photocopies he had made of the less terrifying parts of dad’s journal. $10 at Kinko’s, which he could hardly afford, but this was worth it. He set them down on Adam’s desk and looked over at each bed. The teenagers had burrowed under their respective covers as if sleeping but were obviously wide awake. He had heard them talking earlier.

“Sam. Adam. I put copies of dad’s jour- I mean, book draft on the desk. The original stays with me.”

 _Silence._

“Did you do it because it comforts you to see his handwriting? I know it does for me. That’s why I read it all the time. Because I miss him.”

_Nothing._

“Anybody? Feel free to pitch in anytime.”

Dean waited silently, hoping one of them would give in. But he was disappointed.

“Fine. Silent treatment, then. Guess I’ll just go enjoy this breakfast by myself and wait there for you guys to man up and face the music. Hope it doesn’t take all day.”

“Wait.” That was Adam, his voice muffled and low under the covers. “It was Sam’s fault. He started it.”

That caught Dean off guard; and apparently Sam as well. He sat up and threw off his blanket, his hair wild. “What the hell? I did not!”

“You did!” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Dean nearly choked. “Sam! Language.”

“That was English, Dean. I didn’t do shit. He’s the one who-”

“Shut up.” Adam threw off his blanket and glared at his brother. “You had the bright idea to mess with the lock. I didn’t even know you could do that!”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who went in first and started poking around-”

“But you--”

They continued to argue relentlessly. Dean just sighed, and stood there with his arms crossed and his heart somewhere around his knees. The two teenagers rarely fought, but Dean had learned quickly years ago that intervening only made things worse. As long as they didn’t come to blows - which they never had so far, and he hoped they never would - it was best to wait them out and let their energy dissipate. So he waited.  
And waited.

They wouldn’t stop.

“Hey!” Dean finally said, holding out his hands in a _stop talking_ gesture. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. You’re both at fault, so-”

He broke off in shock as Sam picked up his full water bottle and threw it directly at Adam’s head, but missed and hit the wall with a loud _thunk_. In return, Adam flung his alarm clock back, hitting Sam square in the chin. 

“Oh that’s it, god damn it,” Dean growled. He took three steps over to Adam’s bed and bodily pulled him to his feet, then spun him around and shoved him through the door into the living room. He couldn’t do the same thing with Sam, who was much bigger than him, but all it took was an icy glare to get him to settle down instantly.

“You’re in _serious_ trouble,” Dean stated in a ferocious tone. “Throwing shit at your brother like you’re a toddler. You’re _seventeen years old_ and headed to Stanford in a few months. Unbelievable!”

Sam gave him a guilty puppy dog look, but it didn’t work, and he reluctantly rose to his feet as Dean barked at him to get out in the living room.

“Sorry, Dean.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna be even sorrier in about a minute. Get out there and join your brother. We’re about to have the goddamn Spanish inquisition to get to the bottom of this debacle. Go!”

======  
It took Dean several long moments and deep breaths to collect his wits and go out to face his brothers. They were both guilty, they were both furious, and even worse - one of them was lying, if not both of them. This was a situation that had never happened before, and Dean was at a loss as to how to deal with it. He had to buy more time in order to think this out, lest he make it worse.

“Stand still and look at me, not at each other. First things first. Are you ever going in my room again without my permission?”

“No,” they said together.

“I can’t afford to replace that lock, so I have to trust you both. I have serious doubts about that at the moment, but it can’t be helped. You’ve given me your word before that you wouldn’t go in there, so why should I believe you now?”

“It’s just a stupid book,” Sam grumbled.

“Oh come on, Sam! This isn’t about a book, and you know it. This is about integrity and honesty. If you don’t have those qualities at 17, you won’t have them at 18 or 35 or 70. That’s what I’m trying to instill in you now, before it’s too late. Understood?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Second thing. Do you guys want to have this conversation now, or later? If you need time to calm down in order to have a productive resolution to this problem, tell me. Because what just happened in that room can never happen again. You hear me?”

They nodded together.

“Good. Sam, you’re the oldest so you can go first. Explain how we got where we are today in regards to this matter.”

Sam shrugged. “You left your door open one day. Adam went in to close the window during a storm and he saw the book. He showed it to me. You came home so we put it back and waited like a month to see it again.”

Adam scoffed. “And then he broke the lock because he was too cowardly to ask you-”

“Adam, wait in the corner until it’s your turn,” Dean said mildly. “Quietly. Don’t argue. Go.”

Adam rolled his eyes and went, and Dean turned back to Sam. “Go ahead.”

“This is stupid. Just punish us and get it over with.”

Dean shook his head. “You’re not getting off so easy this time. Keep explaining.”

“Nothing to explain.”

“I think there is. I’m waiting.”

Sam crossed his arms. “Whatever. So dad was writing a book, big fucking deal. Why were you hiding it? You scared we would make fun of you for reading about ghosts and vampires?”

“Alright, you’re done. Switch places with your brother.”

Dean thought for a heart-stopping moment that Sam would disobey him, which he had never done before, but the big teenager finally complied and Dean was able to breathe again.

“Yes, Adam? Waiting for an explanation.”

“It was Sam’s idea,” he said lamely. 

“Fuck you,” said Sam’s voice from the corner, and Adam’s eyes bugged open as he watched Dean reach down to his waistband and unbuckle his belt. 

“Alright. Conversation over. I would have gone easy if one of you had fallen on your sword and taken the blame for all this, instead of pinning it on each other and resorting to childish behavior. This hooligan crap is not acceptable. You’re _brothers._ I’m your brother. All we have is each other, and if we can’t stand up for each other and be men in tough times, there’s no hope for this family to stay together after you guys are off to college.”

They were silent. Sam had turned around now, his eyes red and watery.

“I’m going to ask you again. Which one of you is going to man up and accept the blame for this?”

He really, really hoped that both of them would speak up, as they normally did, but in his heart he knew it wasn’t going to happen this time. And it didn’t. Dean’s hands were shaking, but he held tightly onto the belt and tried not to let his voice tremble.

“Alright. Time to pay the consequences, then. Once this is over, it’s over, and we won’t bring it up ever again.“

“Dean-” they said together, but he quickly shook his head.

“Too late now. You had several chances to speak, and you didn’t. So I’ve made up my own mind about who’s to blame. One of you is getting the belt, the other gets to listen and learn. Move.”

He pointed to spots where they should stand as far apart as possible along the back of the long couch, and spoke again before they could dissolve and protest further.

“I always hoped it would never come to this. But I don’t have a choice. You became physical with each other, you violated my trust big time, but most importantly - you didn’t look out for each other. So standing in the corner just isn’t going to cut it this time. This lesson is too important and I want to make sure you really remember it. Understood?”

They nodded, both too paralyzed with fear and dread to speak up again.

“Okay. Bend over, pants down, and close your eyes. Keep ‘em shut the entire time, no matter what.”

“Oh my god,” Sam breathed shakily. “Are you serious? You’re _really_ doing this?”

Dean nodded. Sam wasn’t trying to argue, he actually was as close to acceptance as Dean could possibly expect. 

“Dean…wait...” that was from Adam. He may be almost 17, but he looked as scared as a little kid suddenly. Dean resolved not to bark at him and just waited patiently for the two of them to finish exchanging glances.

“Time’s up. Pants down. Underwear stays up. Move. Anyone wanna volunteer before I make my final decision?”

No, of course.

“Thought so. I’ll surprise you, then. Go. No more stalling.”

They proceeded in painfully slow motion, but they did it without further protest. Dean was impressed, but not enough to change his mind about making them suffer a little. He reached behind him when he was sure their eyes were closed and silently picked up one of the fake velvet dining room chairs to put in between them. And then he cracked the belt, and took his first swing.

Both brothers jumped violently at the loud crack, but didn’t whimper. Then the second one made them flinch even more. Dean heard Adam whimper a little, so he waited a couple seconds, told them to keep their eyes shut, and swung again. The third was far louder than the first two, and now Sam whined a little along with his brother. By the fourth one, which was louder than the first three put together, Dean knew there wouldn’t be a fifth. Both his brothers popped upright, simultaneously bursting into tears, holding their pants up with one hand and wiping their eyes with the other.

“Okay, it was me!” Sam blurted. “Stop, Dean. I was the one who got the screwdriver in the first place.”

“No, it was my fault,” Adam interrupted tearfully. “I got this, I’ll take it, don’t hurt him anymore. I pressured him into it.”

Dean crossed his arms but said nothing.

Sam wiped his eyes and watched his little brother in deep concern. “Doesn’t matter what happened because I shoulda stopped him. It’s on me, I got this. You okay, Adam? You good?”

Adam nodded and wiped the snot from his nose away. “Yeah, you ok? Are you bleeding? That was so loud!”

“Bleeding? You’re bleeding?” Sam wailed.

“No, are you?” Adam wailed back.

“What? No. Why are you asking me, you’re the one who…aren’t you...wait.”

They stopped crying and stared at each other in confusion.

Dean cleared his throat to get their attention again, then swung the belt back again and laid down another ferocious stripe onto the velvet padding of the chair. The brothers jumped, looking back and forth quizzically between each other, Dean, and the poor piece of furniture that had gotten half the stuffing beaten out of it, sacrificed to make a point for its younger owners.

Dean waited until it was clear they understood what had just occurred, then silently threaded his belt back into his jeans and looked at Sam, willing him to say something.

“Dean,” Sam began sheepishly, new tears sprouting anew, but carefully held back. “I...we’re so sorry. We’re stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. You were _being_ stupid momentarily, yes. But I don’t care about that, we all have our moments. What I care about is how you both kept trying to throw each other under the bus to save your own asses. Literally and figuratively. Do you guys suddenly not want to be brothers anymore, or something? Because this behavior is new to me, and lemme tell you now if you didn’t already figure it out - I didn’t like it one bit.”

Sam shook his head. “No. I mean yes. I mean...we got it. We hear you.”

“Adam?”

“I’m good. Hear you loud and clear. You don’t have to change the lock. We’ll never touch it again.”

“Okay. I trust you, then. Pull your pants up.” Dean caught his breath again, silently thanked whatever power had given him the strength to not _actually_ beat their asses bloody, and looked towards the kitchen.

“Breakfast is cold now. Better go heat it up.”

“I got it. You guys sit.” Adam rushed into the kitchen as he zipped his jeans, leaving Dean looking up at his older brother sadly. 

“That was clever,” Sam admitted gloomily as he glanced down at the chair briefly.

“This lesson was more for you than him, Sam. You messed up,” Dean said, very quietly, almost a whisper. “He’s your brother as much as I am. He’s our blood. And I would do anything for either of you. Die for you, _anything_. You gotta promise me you’ll do the same for him. Because he doesn’t have anyone else but us.”

Sam nodded, his face stricken and white, but determined. “Yep. Got it. I will. But I'm not that bad. Maybe you're forgetting I nearly got suspended last month because I was trying to defend him when he was sick?”

“That's not good enough, Sammy. You gotta make the hard choices, too. I’m gonna go for a drive.”

“What? What about breakfast?”

“Already ate while you guys were asleep. I’ll be back in a bit, don’t worry. Just need some fresh air.”

Sam gulped. “Yeah. I can see why. I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“I know. See you in a bit. An hour, maybe two, then we can go bowling or something. You guys gonna be ok until then?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yep. See ya in a bit.” Dean put his jacket on and left, and Sam turned around to go into the kitchen.

“Wait,” Adam said quickly, “where’s he going?”

“Getting some fresh air.”

“What about breakfast?”

Sam looked down at the counter, expecting to find Dean’s plate empty and ready to put in the dishwasher. But there were three plates of pancakes, bacon, and eggs, all completely untouched. 


	5. April

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the very long wait between chapters. I was actually one of the first diagnosed cases of Covid-19 in the US. It was horrific. I’m still weak and listless more than a month later. One of my neighbors died.
> 
> Wash your hands and stay inside. Sending love to you all.

Dean wasn't immediately sure how his relationship with Sam and Adam would change after he'd forced his two brothers to "kiss and make up," so to speak, but it became clear after about a month: it hadn't helped much.There had been several flare-ups, and one near-catastrophe averted at the last second when Sam unexpectedly took responsibility and apologized for being difficult. He'd always tested Dean ever since dad's death, poking and prodding to discover new boundaries and cross them briefly - sometimes out of sheer boredom, sometimes out of need for more attention from his distracted and reclusive older brother. Dean understood all those things and was extraordinarily patient 99% of the time. The few times he had blown up, he'd always regretted it and turned the blame on himself for his failures to address the root causes of the behavior.

But Sam and Adam physically fighting was new, and deeply worrisome. Dean at first locked them down even tighter after the incident, forcing them to do everything together except go to the bathroom and shower, but then he relented after a few days and let them be. When they had behaved for a week without incident, Dean allowed them to go out after school with their own friends instead of coming straight home together. That was a first, and Dean hated how anxious he was for the two hours they were gone. But Sam would be on his own soon enough, anyway, having just received a September 1 move-in date for college.

Only five months left with him, now that Adam had declined to move to California - much to Dean's secret and profound relief. There was absolutely no way they could afford such a move. Sam had taken the news rather well, surprising both his brethren, even though it was clear from his unusual silence at times and new darkness in his eyes that he wasn't happy with it whatsoever. But he kept his word to Dean that he wouldn't try to influence Adam, and the subject was never discussed unless Dean got on Sam's case about battling his severe case of senioritis now that the school year was winding down.

One morning in late April, Dean was driving to work on almost no sleep after breaking up another middle-of-the-night fight and was suddenly overcome with a strong desire to crash his Impala into a tree and be done with everything. The passing thought - which only existed for two seconds, maybe three - scared the ever living shit out of him. He was a fighter; he'd never, ever, though of quitting - but even so…he'd almost done it. There was legitimately a fraction of one of those seconds in which he was happy to have nothing else to worry about again, ever.

He brushed the brief desire away, but still broke into a cold sweat at a red light and shook his head like a dog to refocus. The light changed to green, and the Impala's enormous bulk crept forward, wheels out to prepare to turn left. A huge purple and silver truck was about to come through, going way too fast, but it had right of way. Dean's foot rested on the accelerator for a brief moment. All it took was one tap to get directly in the truck's path, and…

"Fuck!" Dean yanked his foot back, loosened his jacket, then pulled over into an empty Dairy Queen parking lot once the truck had safely passed.

"Fuck!" he yelled again, banging both hands on the steering wheel at the same time. God, he was going to vomit all over himself. He opened the door quickly, but managed to hold back his gag reflex - there was a man standing on the sidewalk, curiously out of place in an outfit more suited for a wet winter than a bright, warm spring day. Dean shut the car door again and jammed the accelerator, then pulled over a few blocks later into another parking lot. This time he got out, and staggered over to a decrepit old picnic bench to sit down and try to breathe. His lungs wanted to suck in air, they were desperate to do so, but he didn't want to. He knew himself well; he'd lose control and be unable to stop sobbing.

At least the nausea had passed, he mused idly as he studied his surroundings. Without even thinking about it, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a quarter, then staggered over to the payphone against the building and dialed his home number, newly reconnected. Sam and Adam had been so contrite about their first fight and its drastically depressing effect on Dean, that not only had they pooled their meager savings to pay for a new knob for Dean's bedroom door, but they also paid three months' worth of the overdue phone bill and the re-connection fee.

Dean had been livid that they'd wasted their money that way, then profoundly relieved, then depressed again. The annoyance was long gone; the depression about not being able to afford the things himself hadn't even come close to wearing off yet.

"Hello?" said the tinny voice on the other line.

"Hey Sammy. How you doing?"

There was a puzzled pause on the other end. "Dean? You okay? What's up?"

Dean forcefully swallowed down a sob. "Yeah, yeah. Good. Just checking to make sure you're ready for school."

"Yeah, we were just leaving but I came back to answer the phone. What's going on?"

Dean nodded and quickly wiped his wet eyes with his sleeve. "Nothing. Just…you know how I sometimes get that feeling sometimes, like something bad's about to happen?"

Silence for a few moments. "And nothing ever does," Sam said quietly.

That wasn't true, but Sam didn't know that. Dean's instincts were usually spot on, frightfully so. He had known, for example, that Bobby would be killed that day. He didn't know how he knew, but he did, and the fact that he'd never gotten to say goodbye haunted him almost daily.

"Stay at home," he blurted to Sam, far too harshly. "Don't go to school."

"Oh come on Dean, no. Today's senior ditch day."

"Yeah. Ditch day means you don't go to school. So it's perfect."

Another groan from Sam. "That's no fun! We're supposed to go to school and leave after homeroom and go to a movie. Come on, we talked about this. It's okay, nobody's gonna get in trouble. It's tradition, you did it too!"

Dean wiped his eyes again and took a deep breath, fighting back another overwhelming urge to step into the busy street and just be done with it. He had no idea what the hell had come over him suddenly, but it was absolutely frightening the shit out of him.

"Stay home, I swear to god, Sam. Don't move. I'll be right there."

"You're scaring me. What's-"

"Get back in the fucking apartment and lock the door!"

Dean hung up the phone - slammed it down, really - and looked wildly around him again. He startled at the sight of someone watching him from behind a gas pump, then peered closer. It was the same man who had been watching him at the Dairy Queen, now much closer but still at a safe distance.

"I don't swing that way," he yelled impulsively, all the hair standing up on his arms as he climbed back into his car and locked the door.

"Dean."

"What the fuck?" Dean jumped back with a gasp as the man peered at him through his open driver's side window, now just inches away. "How did you…you were just over there and now - what the fuck do you want?"

"We need to talk."

"If you're thinking of mugging me, good luck. I'm packing some major heat."

"I'm here to help you, not mug you," the man said calmly, cocking his head in confusion enough to make Dean stare at him uncomprehendingly. Then… _oh, shit._

"You're one of Crowley's thugs. I'm paying him back this morning, so back the fuck up and get out of my way before I run you over."

"You need to leave. Immediately. Don't ask Crowley for even a cent more." The blue-eyed stranger looked around again, then tightened his trench coat around him as if there was some kind of bitter cold wind. "You need to leave Kansas. Move to California with Sam. Don't listen to Adam. He doesn't know. Go now, don't wait until September."

"Wait, I…what? You…no I'm not. What the hell? You're freaking me out. Are you threatening me, or..?"

"Threatening you? No. Why would you think that?"

"Oh, I dunno. You're just out here following me around in the middle of nowhere and trying to force me out of house and home with no explanation at all, even though I have no idea who you are or how you know everything about me. Gee, don't know why I'm so worried!"

The blue-eyed man nodded sagely. "Glad you understand the seriousness of the situation. I'll check up on you again in 48 hours at the most, if not more frequently. You should be able to make it at least to Nevada by then."

Dean's jaw dropped for a second time. "You…you…never mind. Stay the fuck away from us, I mean it."

"I was a friend of John's. You can trust me."

"Trust you? You can't even put on a damned tie correctly," Dean spit out indignantly. "I knew all of dad's friends. I've _never_ seen you. You're just some Crowley groupie sent to follow and scare me. I don't know how you know about Sam going to California, but if you get within a mile of my brothers ever again I'm gonna find you and cut your fucking heart out."

"But you actually can't kill me, Dean. And I can always find you."

"Try me."

Dean didn't wait for the man to move; he slammed his foot down on the gas, and peeled out around the gas pump and into the street. He was shaking, nauseated, and then briefly terrified as he realized he could not see the stranger in his rearview mirror. Dean drove around the big empty block twice, then a third time, looking for a car to follow and report to the police. It was if he'd vanished into thin air…shit, it was like he'd appeared out of thin air, too.

_You're fucking losing it, Dean. Get your shit together._

As he drove the last two blocks to the garage, Dean forced himself to breathe normally and concentrated fiercely on slowing his galloping heart. He pulled into the parking lot and was startled to find Charlie waiting there for him, phone in hand. Not the shop's shitty phone - Crowley's phone.

"Charlie? What-"

"Your brother's on the phone. Emergency."

Dean snatched up the handset. "Sam?"

"Dean? How the fuck did you know?"

"What?"

"A freakin' semi went out of control and just crashed into the bus stop!"

Dean nearly dropped the phone. "Oh my god. You guys okay?"

"Yeah. How the hell did you know something was going to happen? We woulda been standing right there-"

"Sam-"

"And then you call out of the blue and-"

"Sam! You guys in the house? Doors locked?"

"Yeah." Sam was sniffling, either at the scare or Dean's harsh tone. Probably both; he was an usually sensitive teenager sometimes.

Dean softened his tone slightly. "I'll be home in twenty minutes. Promise you two will plant your asses on the couch and not move until I get there. I mean it, swear to god, you better not set so much as a fingernail outside."

"But I…why the couch? We wanna see what's going on. It's not like this happens every day. We'll just watch from the kitchen windows."

"Fine. Stay inside. That's an order, Sam."

"We will. Promise."

Dean jammed the "end call" button on the phone and strode back into the office to hand it to Charlie. Then, without asking for permission, he strode into Crowley's office, yanked the $300 out of his pocket and threw it on to the desk with a satisfying thud; he had purposely withdrawn it entirely in $1 bills just to spite his boss. He quickly steeled himself and instantly regretted his audacity when he saw Crowley's expression. The man was staring at him like Dean had just sprouted elephant ears.

"Before I fire you and Charlie for using my phone," Crowley growled dangerously, "kindly indulge me by sharing what the hell you were thinking to be barging in here like that?"

"You sent thugs to tail me and threaten my family," Dean answered, his tone stone-cold. "But I've always you paid you back on time. Early, most of the time. So why did you do it?"

"For $300? You must be joking. They make at least that much per hour. Your math is weak. Guess that's why you're just a mechanic."

"Who was he?" Dean demanded.

"Who?"

"The freak in the trench coat who knows that my brother is going to Stanford!"

Dean stopped cold when he saw Crowley's odd expression. Surprise - was that really _surprise_? Dean could not remember ever seeing this devil incarnate anything but smugly satisfied, and the odd reaction sent yet another wave of nausea through him from head to toe.

"You…" Dean stuttered. "He told me not to borrow any more money from you. How did he know that? Gee, I wonder who told him."

"Not me. I'd never admit to being such a softy deep down inside. Now pack up your shit and leave. Wait…a trench coat, you say? What did he look like?''

"Pretty much straight out of the loony bin with that backwards tie, that's all I'm gonna say. Hope he hangs himself with it. Is that where you pick up all your day laborers nowadays? Heard you were more of a Home Depot kind of guy."

"Did he say his name?" Crowley seemed genuinely interested, which Dean thought was absurd. Of course the man wouldn't give his name, for god's sake.

"No! You know him, though. I can tell by your reaction. I'm going to the police. Go fuck yourself."

He stalked out after tripping over one of the chairs due to being completely blinded with anger.

"Dean, you okay?" Charlie called softly, worriedly, as the angry mechanic passed her and disappeared into the employee parking area.

Dean heard nothing, thought of nothing, felt nothing, as he drove straight home with his heart in his throat and parked in the back of the complex after weaving his way through one-way back roads to avoid the rescue operations. He ran up the wooden stairs and banged on the door, which quickly popped open.

"Crap. You're home. I...he…I told him not to leave. But-"

""Where is he?" Dean queried sharply.

Adam pointed over the side of the balcony. Sam was nearly directly below them two stories down, standing on the curb, discreetly wedged in between two firetrucks, his hands in his back pockets as he gawped at all the activity. Dean noticed him nervously glancing up the street every few seconds, no doubt looking for his big brother's Impala so he could make a mad dash for home to pretend he was keeping his promise. But Dean had taken a different route home, which Sam should have foreseen.

_Outsmarted you at last, goddamn. Never thought I'd see the day._

Dean firmly nudged Adam backwards into the apartment, then turned around and looked at the bus stop that was less than a hundred feet away. Or rather, the empty patch of dirt that had been the bus stop twenty minutes before. There was no trace of it now. Not even a splinter of glass. It had been utterly pulverized. He shut the door and desperately sucked in what seemed like his first breath in hours.

"I'm gonna go get him. Go to your room and shut the door. Keep it shut until I say you can come out. You try to interfere, you'll be next in line. Got it?"

Adam gulped and turned white. "I…I won't interfere. Promise. I tried to stop him, I swear."

Dean nodded, then took a few steps over to his young charge and pulled him into a tight, affectionate half-hug, the kind Sam stopped accepting long before dad had died.

"Not mad at you. Sorry, kiddo. You did good. Just…this scared me. This is crazy. So glad you're okay."

He felt Adam nod against his chest. "But how did you know?" the boy asked quietly.

Dean swallowed hard; his ears then caught the telltale sign of huge feet stomping up the noisy wooden stairs and saved him from having to answer. "We'll talk later. Go to your room."

Adam dropped his arms and backed up. He was still ghastly white. "Don't kill him, Dean. I know he deserves it, but-"

"I won't kill him. Promise. Go."

Adam went reluctantly, and Dean turned and faced the front door from the middle of the living room, his hands resting on his belt buckle at the same time the door opened.

"Hey," Sam greeted semi-cheerfully with a carefully masked expression as he took off his flannel and dropped it on the kitchen counter.

"Hey," Dean parroted back in the same inappropriately upbeat tone. "Hang that up."

Sam turned and picked it up his shirt again, then trudged over to the front closet and deposited it on a wire hanger, taking his time finding just the right space to hang it. When he could stall no longer, he turned to face his stone-faced guardian.

"Sorry," Sam said contritely. "I broke my promise."

"Yes, you did," Dean replied in a hard tone. "What'd you find out? Anyone hurt? Killed?"

"No, thank god. Truck driver didn't even ask for medical help, he's fine…well, maybe a little shell-shocked. Nobody was hit so the only thing fatally injured was his career. Oh, and the bus stop, of course."

"Good. So you're good, then? Not hurt, traumatized, anything like that?"

Sam held his breath and tensed. He knew that tone of voice and inflection all too well, unfortunately. It always ended in tears for him.

"Dean, maybe you could give me at least an hour after having a brush with death before you rip me a new one. We coulda been killed. By the way, we weren't, because I listened to you and came back home when you told us to."

"Not without a fight," Dean said tightly. "I had to tell you three times to-"

"How did you know we were in danger?"  
  
"I had to tell you _three times,"_ Dean repeated, doubling the volume of his voice, "to get your asses inside in the first place. It should've only been once. It used to only be once. Even a few months ago, you never broke a promise. Ever. Tell me what would have happened if you hadn't listened this one time."

"I...we would have been in the path of the truck."

"Exactly. Do you understand why I'm so pissed now? No, I'm not pissed. Strike that. I'm fucking terrified, Sam. Because you seem to have no concept of what it's like being in my shoes, watching you two grow up and knowing I won't able to protect you for much longer. Especially because you barely fucking _listen_ to me anymore."

Sam shook his head after a few moments of furrowing his eyebrows and having no answer. "An hour, then?"

"What?"

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically. "The corner. How long this time?"

"Not yet." Dean's hands moved to his belt again; he deftly unbuckled it and quickly slid it out of the loops. "We're finally doing this, and nothing's gonna get you out of it this time. I've had it, Sam. Probably don’t need to explain myself, either, unless you really need me to recap exactly how much you've screwed up lately."

Sam fiddled with his sleeves and looked away. "No thanks. Won't fight you on this. But I'm not moving until you tell me how you _knew_ that truck was coming. Because that is some supernatural shit right there, and I don't like it."

Dean froze, the belt swinging to and fro in his icy-cold hands. "I didn't know, Sammy. Swear to god. I…I don't know how to explain."

"At least try. You're freaking me out! Both of us, actually!"

Dean followed Sam's gaze and spun around him; the bedroom door quickly clicked shut and Adam's face disappeared again. Dean turned back to Sam and lowered his voice. All he could think about was the strange man in the trench coat.

"Fine. I'll just give it to you straight. I thought you two were in danger because Crowley's got a guy following me around asking questions. I had no idea about any truck. This dude cornered me at the gas station, and he knows that me and Adam aren't moving to California with you. You open your big mouth around town or something?"

Now it was Sam's turn to freeze and go pale. "No. I hadn't told anyone. Was still hoping you'd change your mind. Why does Crowley have someone following you?"

Dean hesitated, seeing Crowley's odd surprised look in his mind. He didn't send the guy, Dean knew that in his heart. Which explained nothing whatsoever. Fuck.

"Adam!" Dean yelled, and when the kid crept out of the bedroom Dean put the same question to him. Adam denied telling anyone about Sam's move, either.

"Listen up," Dean muttered. "I don't care if you told the queen of England. I just need to know either way. Tell me now, did either one of you ever mention to _anybody_ that it was up to Adam whether or not we moved?"

The brothers shook their heads. One of them was lying, then. _Just fucking great._

"Okay," Dean huffed irritably. "Let's get on with it, then. Adam? Over the couch, pants down. Move it."

"B-b-b-but I didn't tell anybody!" Adam protested as he turned white yet again, and Dean held out an arm to stop Sam from advancing on his angry guardian in protest.

"Not what this is about. I told you to keep your door shut until I let you out, and that’s not what happened, so you're getting-"

Dean broke off as someone knocked harshly on the door. "What the hell?" he exclaimed in spite of himself, and the two younger boys stepped aside like Moses parting the Red Sea when Dean made a beeline for the door.

"It's a cop," Dean said after looking through the peephole. "Probably checking to make sure you guys are okay." He undid the deadbolt locks and yanked open the cheap, thin door. There were three cops, actually.

"Gentlemen," said the obviously senior policeman. "No one's in trouble, all is well. We're looking for the two lucky boys who were at the bus stop just prior to the crash. Someone said they might be up here."

"That's us," Sam piped up from over Dean's shoulder. "We're fine, officer, thank you."

"May we come in?" the cop asked Sam, who looked at Dean for the ok.

"Come in," Dean said reluctantly. "I'm Dean, these are my two brothers. How can we help you?"

"Where's your dad?" the officer asked, still looking at Sam.

"He's passed. Our mom, too. Dean's our guardian."

The three police officers filed in, and Dean snatched up his belt from the couch and put it back on discreetly.

"Sorry, he looked the oldest," said the officer sheepishly as he turned his attention back to Dean.

"I'm 22. They're 17 and 15. What can we do for you?"

Sam tensed as he watched his brother obviously gritting his teeth with distaste at the presence of three black uniforms inside their apartment. He'd never known Dean to dislike the police before. Interesting. And…very odd.

"We're looking for witnesses. This truck driver, see, he lost his brakes coming down the hill. We always knew it would happen at some point, that's why the city's been trying to level out the road or create trucking lanes or whatever. Never gonna happen, not with our budget and the fools who run this town."

"Can we get on with it?" Dean asked tightly. "Sam and Adam witnessed it. I was on the way to work. So you can ask them questions, unless I need to get a lawyer first."

The cop cocked his head at Dean. "You okay, boy?"

Sam and Adam gasped as Dean visibly bristled; there was nothing the eldest Winchester hated more than to be called _boy._

"Sir," Sam blurted quickly, "his brothers were almost turned into oatmeal about half an hour ago. No, he's not okay. What do you want to know, please? We'll tell you everything."

The cop sat down on the couch, and the other two sat at the dining room table. Dean backed himself into a far corner and crossed his arms grumpily.

"I'm officer Henrikson, by the way. Strange thing I gotta ask you. Our truck driver is either partially out of his gourd, or he's totally out of his gourd. He swears that he was on track to plow into this apartment building, steering all out of control, but that a man appeared in the middle of the road and…and…"

"And what?" Sam asked anxiously.

"And he…" Hendrikson laughed a little. "He, uh…he says this guy appeared out of nowhere right in front of the truck, so in a last ditch effort he…the driver, I mean…panicked and managed to just haul the wheel over enough to plow into the bus stop instead. Says he definitely ran over the guy, felt a thump and everything, but we can't find any trace of him. He also says he shouldn't have been able to turn it that far, that quickly. I don't know what to make of it."

"You were right the first time," Dean replied moodily from the corner. "He's out of his gourd."

"Let me talk to the witnesses, please. Did you boys see anything like that?"

"No, sir," Adam answered respectfully. "We were inside. We heard it but didn't see it."

Sam nodded. "Only just inside, sir. It happened maybe ten seconds after I shut the door."

Henrikson wrote down this information silently.

"I think we're done here. Need me to show you to the door, officers?" Dean asked angrily, and was rewarded with a sharply pointed glare from the officer.

"Why aren't they in school right now?" Henrikson asked coldly. "That's a question for you, by the way, as their guardian."

"We were on the way," Sam answered. "I turned around to answer the phone."

"Witnesses say you two were at the bus stop for a while."

Sam took a deep breath. "Sorry, I…yes, we were at the bus stop for a while. I came back because I forgot a book, and Dean called just as I was leaving again. He told us to go home and stay there. So I went back out to get Adam, and we came home. Well, not straight home, sorry Dean. We grabbed Slurpees at 7-11 then we hurried home. The crash happened right after that. It was like five minutes after Dean told us to go home."

Henrikson looked back at Dean. "Got a habit of contributing to the delinquency of a minor?"

"Just the opposite. It was senior ditch day, officer. I didn't want Sam to get caught truant, so I told him to stay home to keep him out of trouble," Dean lied smoothly. "I also decided to come home and drive Adam to school."

"He's 15, he can't go alone?"

"Of course he can, sir," Dean answered respectfully, openly ignoring the astonished looks his brothers were giving him. "But it's really the only time we have alone together, so I like to drive him and catch up with him. I apologize for being rude to you earlier. Adam was right, I'm in a little bit of shock. If this phantom jaywalker of yours hadn't stepped in, they would have been here and probably gotten killed, and it would have been my fault."

"Where were you when you called them?"

"On the way to work. About twenty minutes away, gas station payphone. I remembered what day it was and pulled over specifically to tell Sam to either go to school and not ditch, or stay home."

"Not a fan of ditch day, huh? It's a tradition."

Dean cranked up the charm suddenly. "Let's just say my father was a non-traditionalist and didn’t appreciate when I did it. Guess he passed that respect for the law and education straight down to me."

That explanation seemed to completely win over the three officers, who visibly relaxed, especially Henrikson.

"Fine," the man said. "So then the crash happened about five minutes later. Extraordinarily fortunate timing on your part. Anyway, just one more question for Adam and Sam. At any point this morning after you first left the house do you remember seeing a man wandering or standing in the street at all?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, actually. There was a guy who seemed a little lost in the parking lot of the 7-11. Never seen him before and he kinda came out of nowhere. I thought he was looking for the bus stop so I pointed it out. He didn't say anything. But maybe that was him?"

"Can you describe him?"

"Yeah, definitely. He stood out. I actually thought he was going to rob the place and was just waiting for us to leave. He had blue eyes. Dark hair. White guy, about as tall as Dean."

"Okay. You remember anything he was wearing?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. A tan trench coat and blue tie, which was on backwards, I think."

"That's him, alright," Henrikson said gloomily as he picked up his pen once more. "Thank-"

"Son of _bitch_!" Dean yelled suddenly from where he was backed into the corner, now grabbing desperately at the couch to keep himself upright.


	6. May

"Where have you been?" the two youngest Winchester brothers asked anxiously as they leaped to their feet in exhausted relief at the reappearance of their increasingly mysterious legal guardian.

"Out," Dean said shortly. "Can't talk right now. I gotta head to Big Springs for a job interview. You guys good?"

"A job doing what?" Sam asked quietly.

"I’m a mechanic, Sam. What do you think it’s for? Interior decorating? Repeat the instructions I gave you before I leave, please."

Sam sighed dramatically, because of course he did. Everything was always drama with the middle Winchester. "Lock the door, lock the windows-"

"Did you finish installing them all?" Dean asked abruptly, referring to the locking latches he had bought yesterday with the very last of their funds. They were officially broke now. Again.

"Yeah, Dean. You know we did, because I told you I would. Right? Keeping my word all the time now."

"Good. Adam? What are the rest of my instructions?"

"Um, don't answer the door or the phone."

"Like freakin' prisoners," Sam grumbled.

Dean opened his mouth to bark at him, but the phone rang loudly and made them all jump. Dean walked over and grabbed it.

"Yes?"

"Hey, Dean. It's…um, it's Charlie."

"Not a good time,” Dean said rudely, then instantly regretted his tone. "I’m sorry, it's been a…shit, I'm sorry. How are you?"

"I'm, um…the police came to the shop to ask about you. I wanted to tell you what I told them, you know, about you quitting and all. But first, I…I wasn't fired, just so you know. For the phone thing. He never even mentioned it. Isn’t that weird?”

"I'm so glad to hear that. Where are you now?"

"The diner next door. Lunch break. Listen, um, Crowley…god, I don't know how to tell you this."

"Just give it to me straight." Dean looked up and noticed his brothers watching him curiously, so he turned his back on them.

"He found out about your interview just now because their guys called over to ask about your pay."

"He lied, I'm guessing. Big surprise."

"No, actually." Charlie's voice lowered. "He was truthful about that. But he told them you aren't trustworthy and…and said they'd make a mistake hiring you. I-"

"Oh, fuck."

"Yeah, it gets worse. Then he told them about the police visiting here, and that's how I found out they're doing a full on background check thing on you. Involving child protective services and everything. It's bad, Dean. I'm so sorry."

Dean nearly broke the phone with how tightly he squeezed it at that. "Okay," he said calmly, knowing it was crucial not to scare his brothers. "Thanks for letting me know. I need to head out to Big Springs now. I'll call you later and let you know how it went."

"Really? But I…I just…"

"So glad you called. Great to hear your voice, miss you."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Oh. Your brothers are listening."

"Yep. You too, thanks. Chat soon. Bye Charlie."

Dean hung up and calmly set down the receiver back into the cradle, then turned around to face his young charges.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, his face a perfect picture of anxiety.

Dean took a deep breath, then picked up his car keys again. "Oh, nothing. Job doesn't pay as much as I hoped it would, that's all. But still more than I was making. So wish me luck."

"Don't forget your resume," Adam said quickly as Dean opened the door empty-handed.

"Thanks.” Dean reached over and plucked the manila folder off the counter. "I'll be back in a few hours. Sorry for the lockdown. I’ll make it up to you later.”

He didn't wait for a reply and instead bolted down stairs so fast that he nearly plummeted headlong at the end.

Sam glanced worriedly at Adam, then went to the bathroom and stood the toilet to peer through the little window that looked over the parking lot. Adam climbed up beside him, standing on the wall along the tub, and stared out with him. They silently watched Dean looking around nervously, like someone would act if they knew they were about to be on the receiving end of a sniper rifle.

Dean got into the car, which didn't move for some time - at least four minutes. Sam nearly got down to go check on him when suddenly the Impala began to move backwards, and the distinctive low rumbling sound finally reached their ears. Adam sighed in relief, then climbed down.

"Hope he gets the job. What are we gonna do if he doesn't?"

Sam climbed down too, lost in thought. "He backed out the other way."

"What?"

"The other way. He…hmmm. Hang on."

Sam went out into the living room and opened the front door, then stepped out onto the little balcony.

"Sam! What are you doing?" Adam screeched in horror. "Get back in here!"

"Just a second," Sam said quietly. He went directly up to the rail and looked down into the street, over towards the corner and the turn that would lead Dean west. He held his breath as the Impala's hood poked out a couple feet beyond an old brick wall. The light was green, but the car stayed put until it turned red again.

What the hell…

"What are you doing?" Adam repeated in annoyance. "You're gonna get us in trouble again, damn it!"

"Hold on," Sam yelled back over his shoulder. "Just testing a theory. If I'm wrong, I'll take the fall."

"Oh great, thanks. That makes me feel better. Fuck, Sam-”

"Shhhh."

If Dean really was heading to Big Springs, he wouldn't pass by the apartment complex on the way out. That meant he wouldn't see Sam. But if Dean was going literally anywhere else, he would turn left and pass in front of their complex, and there was almost zero chance they wouldn't spot each other.

Sam's instincts were just as good as his older brother's, though, and he was willing to take the risk. He watched in dread as the Impala sat through another light cycle while Adam bitched about him some more, knowing he was being ignored.

 _Why aren't you moving yet?_ Sam implored. _Go._

Green light again. The Impala pulled out and turned left. Sam's heart skidded to a stop as Dean passed by him slowly - no doubt to keep the loud engine roars to a minimum - and glanced directly up. The brothers locked eyes for about five seconds, but it seemed like a lifetime and a half to Sam. He felt strangely like he was having an out-of-body experience as Dean and the car left his direct line of sight.

"Well?" Adam demanded irritably as Sam slowly stepped back into the apartment and slid the big patio door shut. "What was your theory? That he won't belt us two days in a row?”

Sam sat down and pulled a book into his lap, then shifted uncomfortably on his aching backside and looked up at his brother. "I'm worried about him, that's all. I just wanted to make sure he was actually going to Big Springs."

"What makes you think he wasn't?"

"I don't know! Because I'm an idiot, is that what you want to hear?"

"Shut up - you're not an idiot, Stanford. I actually had the same thought. So…what happened?"

"He drove towards Big Springs," Sam lied, then after a moment he added, "Do your homework."

Adam looked affronted, instantly. Sam never told him what to do, ever. "Excuse me?"

"I said do your homework," Sam repeated firmly as he reached over and unzipped his own backpack. "When Dean gets back, we're not giving him any reason to punish us again, ever. Okay? I don't care what happens. That messed him up."

"Yeah, messed me up, too," Adam grumbled as he rubbed his sore rear again for the hundredth time today. "Fine. Don't tell me what to do, though. One bossy brother is more than enough.”

"May I politely suggest you do your homework to keep our dear brother from having an early midlife crisis, then?" Sam shot back facetiously. “Otherwise this weekend is going to be hell.”

Adam nodded glumly, then grabbed his backpack and began emptying it on the kitchen counter. He went into his bedroom and sat on the bed to work, and was soon lost in translating long lines of Spanish.

Sam just sat on the couch for two hours, looking at his chemistry book without reading it. He had no idea what he would say to his brother about his blatant lie, but he contended himself with knowing that Dean was thinking exactly the same thing right about now.

\----

Dean was in the waiting room of the police station for nearly an hour before Henrikson came out to retrieve him, and he had done a lot of thinking. A lot. Too much. His head felt ready to implode by the time he sat down in the chair in front of the grumpy man's desk, and his stomach was a hot mess over the thought of how the hell he was going to explain himself to Sam. Fuck.

"What brings you in again so soon?" the police captain asked curiously as he seated himself delicately.

"I, uh…I received word you visited my employer about me."

"Former employer. Did you think we wouldn’t actually talk to him about your claim that he’s a danger to your family?”

Dean shifted anxiously in the hard chair and wished someone had offered him a bottle of water.

"I'm supposed to be at a job interview right now. In Big Springs."

"Okay. And?"

"Crowley sabotaged me. Called the guy up and told him a few things, like that you guys said I’m under investigation by the department of family services. If that’s true, I want to know why. I'm an open book, they can come in and live with me if they want. I treat my brothers well, there have never-"

"Mr. Winchester-"

"You can't imagine how short of a leash I have them on to keep them safe-"

"Mr. Winchester, don't raise your voice to me."

Dean slammed a hand down on the man's desk. “My brothers mean everything to me! I would die for them in a heartbeat. This is bullshit.”

Henrikson stood up abruptly, and Dean snapped his mouth shut.

"Mr. Winchester, what day is it?"

"What? I don’t even know anymore. Why?”

Henrikson threw his hands out in a frustrated gesture. "May first. That ring a bell, by chance?"

Dean shook his head to clear the cobwebs away, then blushed as it dawned on him. "Oh."

"Four years since you got custody. DCFS is doing their yearly welfare check on you and the boys. You've been through this before, you know exactly what to expect. No one's accusing you of anything. Not in regards to your brothers, at least."

"Shit. I'm so sorry. I just…the time gets away with me sometimes. Wait…what do you mean, _not in regards to my brothers, at least_?"

"I’m glad you came by. I’m in a bit of a quandary right now. Your story about this trench coat man isn't panning out. I need to ask you some follow-up questions."

"Like what?"

"We’ll start with the minor stuff.” Henrikson sat back down and pulled out a stack of papers. “Like why you told us Sam is 15 that day. He's 16."

"You mean Adam. I know, sorry. He gave me grief about that already. I was in shock about the truck thing, like I said. And he's still like 12 to me sometimes. Time flies. Do you have any water?"

Henrikson turned around and picked up a room-temperature bottle and handed it over.

"Fine. I'll let that go. Next. You said after you called Sam and told him to stay home, you would pick up Adam to take him to school. That's not what you actually did. You went from the gas station to the garage to report to work."

Dean nodded. "I know. I had to pay Crowley back first and then quit my job, I told you."

"But that’s not what you said. You said quitting your job was an impulsive decision, made on the spot. Both things can’t be true. Amending your story after the fact never looks good, Dean."

"I know what I said, I'm sorry," Dean protested hotly as he gratefully gulped down the water. "It was a bit of a day, you know. Feels like a year ago, not 48 hours.”

"Not good enough," Henrikson said as he sat back down. "Not even close to good enough. That’s not even the half of it. You said this stranger confronted you twenty minutes from your house, when only five minutes later he was spotted there…twenty minutes away?”

"I can't explain that, as I said," Dean said helplessly.

"Then there's the matter of the truck," Henrikson pressed on. "You claim it was the same one that passed you by, purple and silver, going too fast. But not fast enough to cover that much distance in just a few minutes. So we're wondering if you think this trench coat man has an identical twin and that the truck perhaps has a turbo boost button that enabled it to get to town and 200 miles per hour, somehow, yet manage to slow down enough - without brakes - to crash into the bus stop around 40 miles per hour? And all of this coordinated by Crowley just to scare you, because you borrowed rent money from him from time to time, but always paid him back a day or two early, with interest? That smack of any clear motive for murder to you?”

Dean looked down at his lap, defeated again.

"I know how it sounds. What do you want me to say?”

"Admit you got some things wrong and help me clear this up! Look, I'm not saying you're deliberately lying. Or that you're purposely trying to get Crowley in trouble by claiming he sent a mob man after you, or whatever. Maybe you know something we need to know, too, but you haven’t figured it out yet.”

"What are you saying, exactly?"

"That your story is impossible, as it stands now. I can’t do anything more with it."

Dean set his bottle of water on the desk and stood up. "Great. Thanks. This is why I don't trust the fucking police."

"And attitudes like yours are why the police don't trust civilians. Take my advice and withdraw your claims now, before you get charged with filing a false police report."

Dean froze, his blood racing around his body at about a thousand miles an hour suddenly.

"You…what? You aren't even done investigating yet!"

“I will be in a minute because we just got the surveillance video from the gas station, unfortunately for you."

Dean gulped, hard. "What do you mean, _unfortunately for me_?"

Henrikson sat back in his chair and ran a few fingers over his chin. "Come around here and I'll show you."

Dean reluctantly walked behind the desk and looked over the man's shoulder as the video was cued up. A few seconds later, there he was in black and white, looking like a crazed madman as he sat in his car and animatedly argued with…nothing but thin air.

"How do I withdraw my report?" Dean asked calmly after the Impala had disappeared off the edges of the screen. There was only one explanation for this - the stranger hadn’t been human, fucking hell. A shifter, maybe. That would explain being in two places at once. Dean’s throat was dry as sand, and his head was spinning so hard he had to hang on to Henrikson's chair to keep from falling down.

”There are some conditions to retracting it,” Henrikson said glumly. 

"I know that you're gonna say." Dean's voice sounded a hundred yards away in his own head. "I should get a mental evaluation, right?"

Henrikson nodded. "I know you don't have money for a voluntary evaluation. But you gotta find it somehow. Because something ain't right up there, no offense. If it gets really bad, let me know and I'll do an involuntary hold on you. That way the state'll pay for it, no charge to you."

"But it would go on my criminal record."

"Not unless you're arrested first. You can always choose to call for help on your own. And Mr. Winchester? One more thing."

Dean laughed humorlessly. "Sure, why not?”

"Be one hundred percent honest with me, right now, because I have a different question for you that I need you to answer before you can leave this room. You lie again, I'm going to throw your ass in jail for a long time and you're gonna lose those brothers. Be honest, and you can end this charade and go. Got me?"

Dean nodded, his heart stopping yet again. "It’s not a charade. But yes, sir."

Henrikson looked away for a few moments, then locked eyes with Dean again as he pulled out a binder and slowly withdrew a somewhat grainy, printed photo on regular paper. A still from a surveillance camera.

"Is this you?"

Dean nearly fell down again. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

"Yes, sir," he answered, the words coming out like they'd been punched out of his lungs.

"Thought so. That particular weapon is federally restricted and no one within a hundred miles has a license to own one. It’s a felony to even touch one without the right paperwork. Where did you get it?”

"Black market, sir." Dean felt his world crashing down around him. The boys in foster homes while he languished in jail. This was a fucking disaster.

”Are you gonna give me the name of who sold it to you?”

Dean’s throat closed up as he hesitated, then nodded. The man was dead now, so what did it matter?

”Bobby Singer. Sioux Falls, South Dakota. I...his phone number and address aren’t on me at the moment.”

Henrikson nodded. “I’ve been investigating a break-in at the propane plant. This was a motion-detecting camera. Fortunately your face is so pixelated that I can't arrest you for it, but it sure did capture the same damned outfit you're wearing right now, down to the green laces on your boots."

Dean gulped. Damn. "I didn't have anything to do with the break-in, sir. I was hunting around there."

"At 2am? Son, for your own good, I’m going to give you an ultimatum. The city of Topeka has a firearm amnesty program on the first of every month. Take it over there right now and turn it in. Then give me Singer’s phone number and address. Once that’s done, I’ll let you retract your report. Do anything different, you’re sleeping in jail tonight and those boys get taken to foster care. Are we crystal clear?”

Dean agreed with an affirmative murmur, even while he felt anger and bile rising up violently in his throat. "Why don't you just arrest me now? You already have proof that I falsified a police report, right? Why all the charity?"

Henrikson leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Didn't your mama teach you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

Dean's eyes widened as the reason suddenly dawned on him. "I don’t believe in altruism. You’re kissing my ass, aren’t you? Because all of Crowley’s seediest associates were my clients. Holy shit. You need my help to...”

Henrikson didn't react whatsoever, or even remotely give a sign that he was confirming Dean's statement.

Dean continued quickly, "And that’s why you’re suggesting I leave town. Because Crowley knows that I’ve been talking to you. So…I am in danger. Just not for the reason I thought. Can I use your phone?"

"Why?"

“I’m just gonna tell my brothers I’m heading to Topeka. Please."

“Go ahead.”

Dean picked up the old receiver and dialed his home, totally forgetting that he had ordered Sam and Adam not to pick up. So it just rang and rang and rang, until he remembered and swore softly.

"I gotta go home first and tell them. Please.”

Henriksen reached into his wallet and pulled out $20.

“Go. This is for gas. Don’t argue with me. Just take it.”

Dean accepted it with shaking hands. "Thank you," he whispered, his throat catching the emotion his heart was trying to hold down. He quickly strode out to his car and drove straight to the gas station in the video. No, he wasn't crazy. He knew he wasn't fucking crazy, but he had to confirm it anyway. He pulled in to the old, decrepit gas pumps and threw his car into park then glanced up at the roof; the surveillance camera that had caught him last time was now gone. Once he was sure there weren't any others, he climbed out of his car and looked up at the sky through a hole in the ceiling. He wished he believed in god and could pray, anything to feel better, but…

"Hello, Dean."

Dean spun around and nearly fell backwards in his haste to find the source of the voice. There he was, the man in the trench coat, slowly running a finger along the trunk of the Impala as walked slowly around to Dean, who stepped backwards at the same rate to keep his distance.

"What are you?" Dean asked in a harsh voice, feeling very sorry suddenly that with all his bravado he hadn't thought to bring his gun with him when he exited the car. It was well out of reach now.

"There are a lot of questions I will never be able to answer for you. I’m sorry.”

"Well I hate to tell you, but the police captain just confirmed that Crowley's after me. So they’re on to you now, and you’re all going down. You think maybe sending a big-ass truck crashing into my damned house was maybe a little overkill? Amateur. Couldn't just slit my throat during a nighttime stroll or something, huh?"

"I didn't send the truck, Dean."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "Bullshit. You were here one second, then the next second you were there! It ran over you and you weren't injured. Explain to me what the fuck you are, and what the hell is going on, before I start shooting."

The man shrugged. "It will make little difference what I say now. Why are you so angry about it? Your brothers are safe."

Dean eyed his trunk, which he was now approaching. There were an array of weapons in there, but without knowing anything else about how to kill this…thing…he couldn't even hazard a guess at which one to grab, even if he could manage to get in there without the key in hand.

"What do you want with me?"

"You won't be safe here in Kansas anymore due to the threat from Crowley, so I've been sent to make sure you leave and continue your work elsewhere."

"Who sent you?" Dean felt like laughing for some reason. "And even if I wanted to leave, I can't. I've got twenty dollars and fourteen cents to my name. Do they even use money where you're from, or do I need to explain how fucked I am?"

The man lifted a hand suddenly, and Dean darted in vain for the weapon he didn't have holstered to him anymore, because he'd had to take it off in order to go into the police station. Fuck.

The Impala's trunk popped open on its own, and Dean blindly lunged into it to grab the first weapon he could get his hands around, which he quickly pointed at the creature's chest. "I'm getting back in my car, and I'm going home. Try to stop me, I fucking dare you."

"You can't hurt me. I only want to prove that there-”

Dean fired immediately without waiting to hear what needed to be proven. The fat silver bullet went straight through the man - the thing - without leaving a mark or even making him flinch.

"Fuck," Dean breathed in awe as he lowered the barrel. "You said you knew my dad. John Winchester."

"Yes. Very well."

"Prove it, then. Tell me one thing that nobody else could possibly know about him except for me."

The man sifted through his thoughts for a few long moments.

"His favorite poem was This Be The Verse."

Dean scoffed. "He thought it was hilarious and showed it to everyone he knew, so that doesn't prove a damned thing. Try again."

"Alright. One night on a hunt, he told me you had to memorize a poem for school and he helped you pick it out."

"You…you hunted together?"

"Yes, as I said."

"What was the poem, then?"

"In Memoriam by Alfred Tennyson."

"He could have told anybody that," Dean insisted. "You have one more chance."

The man in the trench coat thought some more.

"On your 15th birthday you got in a huge fight after he slapped you in front of your friends for being out past curfew."

"I…." Dean swallowed down his resentment and cringed hard at the bitter recollection of one of the worst memories in his life. "Okay, again, he could have told anybody that. There were a dozen witnesses. Fuck, why did you bring that up?"

"Because that night you took a kitchen knife, went into his bedroom, and held it to his throat for about a minute before leaving again."

Dean threw the gun back into the trunk and slammed it shut. His hands were shaking so badly he had to grip them together to keep his composure.

"How the hell could you possibly know that? I never told anyone!"

"John told me. He was awake."

Dean felt his entire body go numb all at once.

"No. He was sound asleep, drunk as skunk. Passed out. There's no way he told you that, period. You're lying."

The other man looked at him askance. "How am I lying? It did happen, didn't it?"

"Yeah, but…" Dean floundered. "No. You’re telling me something that nobody in the entire world could possibly know. I almost did it, you know that? I wanted to do it. But I felt a presence in that room stopping me from slitting his throat right then and there, and it wasn’t my conscience. Dad was convinced he had a guardian angel, and based on all the shady shit that he got away with, the wounds that healed overnight, the nearly impossible situations he somehow survived…I believed him. Was that you?"

No answer.  
  
“Fine. What should I call you? Steve? Billy Bob? Thor?"

"You may call me Castiel, if you wish. One of my many nicknames."

"Castiel, huh? Angel of Thursday. Is that a coincidence, or just a slip of the tongue?"

Castiel hesitated, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I need to leave now."

"I'm sure you do, because you just blew your cover. Smooth move, Clarence.”

“Dean, I believe you owe me an apology for insinuating that I sent a truck to kill your brothers. If I really am who you believe I am, then you can figure out for yourself what actually happened. I’m not going to spoon-feed it to you.”

Dean could do nothing but stare at him, speechless.

"We'll talk again soon," Castiel mumbled angrily, just as he pointed off in the distance suddenly. "What is that?"

"What?" Dean looked over his shoulder, but saw nothing. He turned back around to ask what was up, but Castiel had disappeared.

"I knew it!" Dean shouted into the sky. "God damn it, get back here. I’m sorry!”

\-----

It took Dean nearly twenty minutes to somewhat recover from the shock of meeting "Castiel," and there was no doubt in his mind that he was dad's mysterious angel, but he had to get back to his brothers. He parked a block away to recover from ugly crying over the past half hour, and had just barely collected himself when he reached the apartment, where Sam and Adam were sitting together on the couch, gloomily watching television with glassy eyes.

"Hey guys," he said quickly as he hung his keys on the wall next to the kitchen light switch. “Get dressed. You’re going to Topeka with me.”

"We need to talk," Sam stated in an irritable tone as he stood up. "Can I have a word with you in private, please?"

"Nope. We’ll talk in the car, and I’ll explain why I didn’t go to Big Springs. Be ready to go in ten minutes.”

Dean retreated and sat on his bed, numb again and thoroughly exhausted. A minute later, Sam's characteristic knock broke the silence.

"Not right now, Sam."

"Please, Dean. Just need to know you're okay."

"I'm fine."

"Are you…are you in trouble with the law?" the teenager asked through the bottom crack in the door with such trepidation that Dean's heart instantly melted from icy determination into warm-ish sympathy.

"No." He got up and unlocked the door, then swung it open a few inches. "Why would ask me a question like that?"

“Two police cars followed you in, and they’re parked behind the Impala."

"What?"

"Yeah. What's going on?"

The phone rang and Dean turned to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Dean? Henrikson here. My boys in patrol just told me you’re still at home. Why?”

"Yes, sir. I’m taking my brothers to Topeka with me, they’re getting dressed. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

“Good, good. Have my counterparts there call me after the deed is done so we can put this to bed. Then we’ll need to talk again in a few days.”

"Yes, sir. I…”

“What?”

“Thank you for the gas money.”

Dean hung up and turned back to his brother. "Don't read into this, Sammy. I'll explain in the car, as I said.”

Sam nodded. “Okay. We’re ready.”

"Good.” Dean suddenly remembered what Henrikson had said about burning his clothes, and he shuddered. "I'm gonna change, I’m all sweaty. Give me a minute.”

“Okay.” Sam shut the door. Dean unbuckled his jeans and pulled them down; just as he did that, his new trench-coat-clad acquaintance suddenly appeared in front of the window, startling Dean so badly that tripped backwards over the waistband of his nearly-discarded pants and fell flat on his butt with a painful crack to his tailbone.

"What the fuck?" Dean hissed as he clutched his ass and staggered back to his feet, hastily pulling up his jeans again. "Jesus Christ!"

“Not quite.” Castiel looked around for a moment, then walked over to the bed and set down a small duffel bag. Dean was too dazzled to say anything, he just stared as Castiel turned his eyes on him again.

“Look away, please, so you aren't blinded by the flash that occurs when I return to my dominion."

Dean shook his head.

"No," he whispered. "I'm not even gonna blink until you get on the level."

"On…the level?" Castiel looked down at his feet. "I don't understand. This floor is level. Actually, correction. It's tilting by less than one degree to the southwest, but-"

"Goddammit, Castiel!" Dean hissed again. "Dad didn’t tell you that story about the knife, did he? Don’t lie to me again!”

A long hesitation, then…a slight, nearly imperceptible confirmation.

"Holy shit," Dean swooned a little, suddenly feeling both sick and giddy all at once. “Angels are real. I...”

"By name only, not your cultural perceptions, strictly speaking," Castiel replied gloomily. "Can I go now, please?"

"Wait. I'm…I'm sorry I shot you. Back there, I mean. And that I accused you of-”

"Look away."

"Okay. Good chat." Dean turned around, and shuddered at the slight whoosh of air that filled the room for a fraction of a second.

The moment the room was clear again, he dashed over to the duffel and zipped it open. It was filled with what must be thousands of dollars in cash. Dean swooned again for a moment, then face-planted on the bed and burst into tears.


	7. May, part II

**May, Part II**

  
It never took more than a single lie for Dean to distrust and deeply dislike a person. Gaining that trust back was nigh on impossible. In fact, it had yet to happen. Both his brothers knew this well, which is why they never dared fib. Disobey and disagree on facts in the heat of the moment, yes - almost always Sam - but no one could ever accuse them of planning any outright deceit or manipulation.

That trait was why Dean refused to consider speaking to Castiel again, ten thousand dollar gift or not, and was constantly in fear of the angel’s sudden return. Actually - it wasn’t so much fear as it was dread. An acute, nearly crippling dread that prevented Dean from thinking of little else in the week after that last appearance. 

The family was now in the midst of the yearly welfare check on the youngest brothers, which would continue until they each turned 18. In the past, both boys could truthfully say no when asked if Dean had ever used corporal punishment on them. Now, they couldn’t say no. And the worst part was, Dean had been so distracted by Castiel that he hadn’t even thought about it until this very moment, when Detective Lafitte was sitting directly in front of the trio with a checklist full of questions. His heart alternated between racing and stalling during the fifteen minutes preceding the question, even though the practice was perfectly legal in Kansas. Sam was asked first; he hesitated and glanced at Dean for a fraction of a second before responding. 

“Yes, sir,” Sam answered quickly, clearing his throat at the same time as if he was hoping to disguise his answer under the roughness and sudden dryness of his throat.

“How frequently?”

“Just once, sir. Well deserved and long overdue, no complaints.”

Dean closed his eyes and held his breath when Lafitte asked exactly what happened. Sam was honest in his response, except for downplaying how harsh it had been - which was fine with Dean, who flushed hotly in shame several times daily every time he thought about the incident. _Never again._

“Leave any permanent damage or draw blood?”

“Hell no. He swings like a girl,” the teenager answered with a smirk.

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean warned sharply, in a low growl.

The detective ignored Dean and wrote down Sam’s answer, then looked back up.

“Just once, you said?”

Sam nodded. “Well, maybe twice now that I insulted him. Guess you can make note of that for next year.”

 _“_ Sam!” Louder this time.

Much to Dean’s horror, Adam then leaned over and stage-whispered to the detective, “Make that three now.”

Dean stood up quickly, his face turning bright red again. “Please excuse us for a moment, sir. I need to remind my brothers of the expectations I had set in regards to their manners for this meeting.”

He jerked his head at the boys, who reluctantly rose to their feet and trudged to follow Dean into his bedroom, well aware that Lafitte’s eyes were judging them intently. Once they were all in there and the door shut, the younger Winchesters braced themselves for all hell to break loose. 

“Sorry, Dean,” they said together as fast as they could, just as a pre-emptive strike against his temper. Dean was facing them, his arms crossed and his expression as terrible as any they had ever seen. The tension in the room could have sliced an aircraft carrier in half.

“Sam. Adam. I’m only going to say this once.” Dean’s voice was ice-cold, but perfectly controlled. “This detective has the power to break up our family if he doesn’t like any of your answers. If that’s what you want, tell me now so I can stop wasting his time and go do some research on foster care organizations in Kansas.”

The two boys paled and blanched, much to Dean’s grudging satisfaction.

“Is that what you want?” Dean repeated after a long silence.

“No,” they said together, choking slightly.

“Then act like it! Get back out there and behave yourselves. Sam? We’ll talk about this later in more depth. Go.”

They nodded together; Sam was crying slightly - Dean didn’t care, it was perfectly fine with him. The teenager could use a good scare every now and then. 

They all somberly returned to the room, the younger Winchesters thoroughly chastised and clearly very sorry indeed as they offered their apologies to the contemplative detective. Dean sat there quietly, listening miserably and stressing out for the next 45 minutes, until it was suddenly over. He asked if he could walk the man to his car afterwards, and was gratified that the answer was yes. 

“I’m so sorry about...you know, earlier,” Dean offered sheepishly as they reached the parking lot, his cheeks coloring hot pink again. “I can’t fathom what the hell got into them. They know better than that.”

“Boys will be boys,” Lafitte drawled. “Not to worry, everything checks out fine and you passed muster. Heard y’all might be moving?”  
  
Dean swallowed hard; both from incredible relief and from overwhelming anxiety. He hadn’t told the boys yet about the life-changing ultimatum Henrikson had given him two days ago. “Haven’t decided yet. I’d like to wait as long as possible.”

“You don’t wanna pull them out of school, I’m guessing.”

“No. But it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I mean, I have the option to leave now if I wanted to and home school them until the school year is over. California’s pretty lax. They’ll still graduate on time as long as I follow the state-mandated lesson plan.”

“California, huh? You should know your brand of discipline is illegal there. Be careful.”

Dean tried to ignore the sharp sting to his pride and self-conscience, knowing it wasn’t intentional. “It’s not ‘my brand,’ and it’s not going to happen again. I think it gave all of us PTSD, especially me. But thanks for the heads-up.”

Lafitte nodded slowly. “You have my number?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me if and when you get settled so I can check up on y’all. Seems you already have your hands full with that older boy, and the younger one is taking after him pretty quick, not that you asked for my opinion. Make sure you mind your temper or you’re gonna get yourself in big trouble out there.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said gravely as he stuck out his hand. “Thank you so much. And again, I’m sorry for the awkwardness with Sam.”

“Wasn’t that bad, don’t worry about it. I’ll send my report to Henrikson later today. Try to relax.”

Dean stood on the curb, his heart full and warm, as he waved the friendly man off. They could be good friends in another life, perhaps. But his blood turned cold again as he made his way back to the stairs. He knew he was still too pissed off to return to his brothers right now, despite the fact that they had behaved perfectly since the severe rebuke. He didn’t trust himself not to explode, so he felt his pockets to make sure his keys and wallet were there, then turned around and headed straight to the Impala.

He hadn’t intended on going to the police to take Henrikson’s offer already; he had been given a week to decide. All he knew was that he had to do something, _anything,_ to keep his sanity in check. Otherwise he’d end up going back home and possibly strangling his idiotic siblings.

So he went to Henrikson and accepted the deal.

\--------------

Dean woke up the next morning to a soft knock on his door.

“Yeah?”

The door popped open. “You didn’t lock it,” Sam said somberly. 

“Come in.”

Sam handed Dean a glass of ice water and frowned.

“Did you drive home drunk?” he asked hotly, already scandalized before he knew the answer.

“Ow. Shhhh. No.” Dean downed the water gratefully, then reached over to slam down the “stop” button on his alarm clock. 

“You left us alone. All day. Didn’t even get home until after midnight.”

Dean struggled to pull himself up into a sitting position and pushed his hair back. He must look a hot mess, he grumbled to himself.

“Yeah. Hey, umm....give me a minute. I gotta talk to you guys. Nobody’s in trouble, but we...just give me a minute.”

Sam looked like he was about to cry again. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I didn’t to make light of anything yesterday. It’s just, I mean, I was really stressed out about all those questions. You know I laugh when I’m nervous.”

Dean resisted the urge to pat Sam on the back to reassure him; the teenager didn’t need approval for acting like he had lost all common sense. “Yeah, I know. You did good except for that. I’ll be out in five minutes.”

“Are you gonna...um...you know…”

“What?”

Sam worriedly glanced over at Dean’s jeans and belt, discarded on the floor near his dresser.

“No, Sam,” Dean said quickly. “I just said nobody’s in trouble. It’s over, we’re good. Thanks for the water. Can you give me a minute, please? I’m butt-naked under here, so I’m not moving til you leave.”

Sam nodded, his expression relaxing. “Okay. I didn’t know you sleep naked.”

“How would you know that, for god’s sake? Come on, Sammy, go.”

Sam grinned, then turned and left. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, Dean knew he had no memory of peeling off his clothes last night, and he’d actually never slept naked before. The thought of Castiel suddenly appearing and seeing him in all his glory suddenly petrified him so acutely, that he wrapped his blanket around him like a robe when he got out of bed and pulled on his jeans, leaving the belt out off because he didn’t have the fine motor skills required at the moment to thread it through the loops.

When he finally reached the living room, hair wild and sporting dark circles under his red eyes, he couldn’t help but internally grin at the way his brothers were staring at him like a grizzly bear who had suddenly unzipped the flap to their tent.

“I know I look rough,” he admitted. “I was at the police station for six hours, then I went out and had a few drinks afterwards. Way too many drinks. I don’t even remember how I got home. But I’m here now. So now that’s out of the way, let’s talk. I have something huge to tell you.”

The boys were silent, and Dean followed suit. Dean fell silent. He should have practiced this speech, god dammit. But no, he had to go out and drink himself into oblivion because apparently he was the next one in line for a lecture about common sense.

“ _Dean_?” Sam prompted anxiously. “What did he say? Just tell us already.”

“He? Who?”

“Lafitte!” Sam burst out. “Are you kidding me! We’re dying here, come on!”

“Oh. We’re good, I passed his tests.”

Both boys deflated instantly, and with a jerk Dean realized that they must have been thinking for hours - almost a full day in Dean’s absence - that the news had been very terrible indeed for Dean to go off on such an unprecedented bender. Guilt stabbed him in the gut suddenly, and Dean felt like vomiting. He hadn’t been thinking about what the boys must have thought about him taking off without a word, at all. Not even a little.

“Dean!” Sam growled. “Don’t fucking tell me you’ve known that all along and didn’t bother to tell us.”

“Watch your mouth,” Dean said mildly, his pounding head not allowing him the ability to raise his voice at the moment. “We’re leaving Lawrence today. Like, within a few hours. We’re moving to California.”

The teenagers were speechless again, and Sam’s eyes were moist. Adam was the only one who could speak at the moment.

“You mean _together_? Like, not split up?”

“Not split up,” Dean confirmed tiredly.

“That’s ridiculous. We have school, Dean,” Sam spit out in the prissy, obnoxious manner he was prone to whenever his indignant side took over.

“I know. It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was a necessary one to ensure the safety of all three of us.”

“Oh,” Sam said sourly. “Crowley.”

Dean nodded; Sam and Adam’s faces turned as white as the cracked fiberglass tub in their tiny little shared bathroom.

“We can’t afford it,” Adam squeaked.

“We can. I was well paid for the information I gave them.” Dean didn’t say it was technically only twenty dollars for gas; they didn’t need to know there was a bag of cash in the safe from someone else entirely.

“Anyway,” Dean continued somberly, “I know this is a shock but there’s nothing we can do about it. We have to go today, that’s the deal. Let’s have breakfast and then head to Home Depot to get some boxes. Sam, you-”

“The Impala can’t carry a bunch of boxes,” Adam interrupted in his know-it-all tone.

“I have no intention of packing up the Impala. We’ll rent a Uhaul van, of course. Sam, what are you thinking about?”

The middle Winchester looked so angry that Dean was genuinely worried he would storm out of the apartment.

“Oh nothing,” Sam replied sarcastically. “Everything’s fine, why do you ask?”

“You up for driving the Impala all the way to California?”

As Dean had predicted, Sam lit up like the Griswold Family Christmas Tree at that. “Are you serious?”

“Yup. I’m not going to pay anyone to trailer my baby all the way there.”

The boys were silently awed by that.

“But, Dean…”

“Yes, Adam?” the eldest Winchester responded patiently. 

“We don’t need...I mean, our stuff is crap, no offense...it would probably cost more in gas to drive it there than replace it. We don’t really have anything worth more than a few bucks. Half the furniture isn’t hours. I mean, we have the pots and pans, and the VCR, but…”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I mean, the stuff I’ll take is like maybe a suitcase and a half.”

“I think I only need one,” Adam put it, and Dean took a deep breath after needing a moment or two to appreciate his brothers’ unexpected practicality and acceptance.

“Okay. I think you’re underestimating, but let’s give it a shot.”

“It would fit better in garbage bags than boxes, so we should go get some of those heavy duty yard ones,” Sam added. None of the brothers had suitcases, so that wasn’t even brought up.

Dean nodded again, his eyes moistening slightly at the thought of something he would rather bring up and hand now before Sam realized it.

“Guys, dad’s buried at Stull. Going to California means not visiting his grave anymore. I want to head over there before we leave to say our final respects, but if you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

Sam looked away. “Told you we should have gotten an urn for him instead of burying his ashes. Could’ve taken him with us.”

“Sam, don’t go there again. You know perfectly well what his wishes were on that point, and I respected them down to the letter.”

“What else is new,” Sam grumbled. “Doesn’t make it right.”

“Knock it off,” Dean warned as he rubbed his temples to massage out the pounding. “Let’s go to Target and get some duffel bags, not trash bags. They’ll be squishy enough. Come to think of it, let’s eat out, too. Where do you guys wanna go?”

\-----------------

Three stores and two restaurants later, the brothers Winchester returned to their apartment complex, but Dean was feeling uneasy about being there. If anyone listened to his instincts it was him, and he immediately called Henrikson as soon as the front door shut behind him. There was no answer, either at his office or at home. Dean tried for twenty minutes, becoming more and more anxious by the second. He didn’t know what was bothering him or why, and he lost his temper when he went out to the living room and found his brothers sitting around, digging into the leftovers from the pastry shop where Dean had treated them to sweets of their choice.

“I told you to start packing,” he barked shortly. “What have you been doing since we got home?”

“Dean,” Sam said with a laugh, “we have like six hours. It’s gonna take me _maybe_ an hour to put my pitiful allotment of clothing into a bag.”

“Good, then we can hit the road earlier, before it gets dark. Put away the food and get to it.”

“What’s the hurry? Oh, maybe you’re just trying to run us out of town before the ladies come after you,” Sam smirked.

“The _ladies_?” Dean asked in confusion.

“Yeah, I mean...you were out really late last night. I think this Crowley story is bull, and you’re just panicking that you’re gonna be some chick’s baby daddy.”

Dean set down the phone on the counter. Before he could stop himself, he took two steps forward and struck Sam full across the cheek with a hard slap that instantly numbed his palm. The room fell dead silent as everyone froze like a painting, the only movement being Sam’s arm as he reached up to cradle his face in shock.

Dean felt nothing - not satisfaction, anger, nor anything else. He kept his tone level as the teenagers stared at him in stunned incomprehension. 

"Make sure to pack up whatever is left of your common sense, too," Dean growled.

“I was...I was just _joking_ ,” Sam choked out in a sob. 

"You see me laughing, Sam?"

“Oh my god, you just did that,” Adam said in a low, whispering tone that clearly indicated he didn't even mean to say it out loud.

“Yes I did,” Dean said in a conversational tone. “Sam, don’t you _ever_ accuse me of acting in my own interests again. Everything I’ve done has been for you! For both of you. _Always_. I’m sick of getting disrespected, and it stops here. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

Sam’s tears were flowing freely now, and he gulped and removed his hand from his bright red cheek to wipe his eyes. Dean didn’t wait for an answer; he turned and stalked into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him without locking it. He intended to try calling Henrikson again, but in his anger with Sam he’d left the phone on the kitchen counter. And he wasn’t about to go back out there again.

“Castiel,” he whispered after a minute of standing in one spot and staring at nothing. “Hope you’re watching over us right now, because we’re in trouble. I know it. Give me a sign you’re here, man. Help me out. Come on.”

Nothing. Dean waited another minute, then opened his closet door and pulled out his clothes so fast that he broke several of the hangers. As he was folding them his bedroom door opened quickly and then shut again; he spun around desperately hoping to see the angel’s face, but was greeted only with two hastily thrown down duffle bags on the floor and a retreating bony arm. He paused for a few moments, shoved the duffles aside with his foot and walked out to the kitchen, where Adam had laid out the pots and pans all over the floor and was busily debating which ones should be kept.

“Adam?”

Adam flinched, then looked up. “Yes?”

“Thanks for the bags. You okay?”

The youngest Winchester nodded. “You were right about underestimating how much space we needed for our clothes. But I still don’t think we’ll need a U-Haul, if we can just buy a few new things when we get there. These huge pots, for example.”

“Agreed. Make a list and we’ll all add stuff to it,” Dean grunted. “Don’t worry about the furniture, obviously. I’m gonna go clear out the car.”

“Wait, Dean.”

“Don’t have time for small talk,” Dean said as he searched for the keys to his car.

“ _Wait_. Sam just went down there with his stuff. Said he wanted to get it in first but he’ll try to leave some room for us.”

The side of Dean’s mouth curled up just slightly. Classic cheeky Sam.

“Thanks.” Dean changed course and picked up the phone instead, then peered out of the kitchen window. There was a police car out front. He dodged into the bathroom, stood on the toilet, and peered into the parking lot. Sam was down by the Impala, chatting away with another police car stationed there.

Good, they were being protected. Dean took a deep breath and felt some degree of relief, but not enough. He thought of the bottle of whiskey in the safe, then disregarded the longing to numb his heart and went back to work.

\--------------

“Eyes are getting tired, Sammy. If you wanna take over for a bit, let me know.”

“We’ve only been on the road for an hour,” Sam replied mildly. 

“Been a long day,” Dean answered. They had left two hours behind schedule due to Henrikson calling Dean into the police station for a few more questions, while the boys sat in the waiting area and kept themselves entertained by guessing the crimes the incoming detainees were being charged with.

_“Drinking milk straight out of the cow,” Adam theorized to start._

_“Selling counterfeit rubber band balls that won't bounce,” Sam postulated next._

"Why would I want to drive this stupid piece of junk?" Sam muttered.

Dean flinched at the shot to his precious Baby, but said nothing.

\--------

“We’re here,” Dean said gently as he looked over at his snoring brothers. The police cars tailing them at a discreet distance had peeled off sometime after dark, it was impossible to tell when, but probaby hours ago considering how far they’d come.

“Hmm?” the boys murmured.

“Goodland, Kansas. We’re at the hotel. Come on. No wait, stay here until I check in. Lock the car doors.”

Dean would never admit to choosing this hotel because the name of the city was so appealing, but that had been the case. Goodland sounded pretty damned “good” right now, that was for sure. The front desk clerk was pleasant, the free coffee even better, although Dean decided at the last second to decline a cup of awake juice at 1pm. He went back to the car and knocked on the window. The boys crawled out of their seats and followed him to their room, collapsing facedown on both beds and instantly passing out again.

Dean pulled a blanket down from the closet and curled up on the tiny couch, knowing he desperately needed sleep for the coming day. It had been a long, terribly dreary drive, not least due to the fact that Sam and Adam barely opened their mouths at all, and Dean was fine with that. He only tried to engage them in conversation once, and had succeeded nicely, but once was more than enough. All he could think about was Castiel. And the money he’d left him. Would there be more? How fast would they run out? So many questions, and no answers whatsoever. 

He did ask Henrikson if he’d be paid for his services, and the answer was no. Dean’s payment was being allowed to retract his police report and get off scot-free from carrying an illegal firearm on state property. That had to be enough, and it was.

Come 3am, Dean was still wide awake. He put his jeans back on and let himself out of the room, not bothering to be quiet considering the teenagers were drooling all over themselves, still fully clothed and on top of the bedspreads.

There was no one at the front desk at this hour, naturally, and the older woman standing there was a bit startled to see Dean come in.

“Sorry to scare you,” Dean said, cranking up the charm an extra notch. “I was wondering if you have somewhere private I could make a phone call?”

“I can’t let you back here, sorry. Security would have my job. There’s a pay phone across the street at the Greyhound station.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

Dean went back to his room; he couldn’t very well ask Castiel to appear in public alongside a busy road, no matter what time of day. Not that he would appear, anyway, not after Dean had treated him so shabbily. 

\----

“Time to check out, Dean,” Adam said as he shook Dean’s shoulder. “Dean.”

“Wha...time...it’s 11am?”

“Noon. You were dead to the world, we thought it was best to...don’t be mad!”

“I’m not mad,” Dean said firmly as he stood up and stretched. “Holy crap, I haven’t slept that long in forever. Where’s Sam?”

“Shower.”

Dean’s bladder ached painfully, but there was nothing he could do except manfully hold it in and pray Sam wouldn’t take too long.

“Is he alright?”

Adam’s eyes went wide, and Dean waved his question away. “Never mind. You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Adam shrugged. “You promised you’d tell us more about what’s going on, but you haven’t said anything.”

“I know,” Dean answered, feeling genuinely contrite now that Adam’s anxious face was tugging on his heartstrings. “Today, okay? Yesterday was a bitch and a half.”

“Where are we going, exactly?”

“I don’t know, exactly. We’ll find a nice place, don’t worry.”

Adam frowned. “I meant today. Where are we going _today_?”

“Oh. Grand Junction, Colorado. It’s probably about eight hours.”

“Thought so. Sam has always wanted to go to Vail. I was wondering if we could stop there for a little while. An hour or two, if only to have lunch.”

Dean looked curiously at his youngest brother, whom he had long forgotten was really his half-brother. It was amazing how much he sounded like dad sometimes.

“I’ll do you one better. We’ll spend the night there. Should we surprise him?”

“Really? Nah, you should tell him. Maybe then he won’t spend all day pouting.”

The shower shut off, and Dean rose slowly to his feet, willing his bladder not to explode.

“You wanna drive for a bit?” Dean asked with a grin. “Finally put that license to good use?”

“Hell yeah! I was gonna ask you yesterday, but I was afraid you’d pull over and chop my head off if I opened my mouth.”

Dean grimaced, then shrugged. “Today’s a new day.”

The Winchesters hit the road shortly afterwards and Sam declined to drive, so Adam took over. Sam rode in front while Dean dozed off in the backseat, blissfully unaware of his middle brother glaring at him the entire time through the rearview mirror.

\----------

Dean was driving again by the time they hit Vail, but he still wasn’t ready to talk despite having six hours to do it. But he forced himself to open his mouth and form words anyway, and they weren’t exactly the ones he’d planned.

“We’re gonna stay in Vail for a couple days,” he blurted. “I need a break. We all need a break.”

“What about the homeschooling thing?” Adam piped up from the back seat.

“There’s museums here, aren’t there? Museum of skiing, or the museum of new money, or something like that. They count, don’t they?”

“I don’t want to stop,” Sam said curtly.

“Oh come on, Sammy. You’ve always wanted to see Vail.”

“It’s _Sam._ I’m seventeen years old. Don’t treat me like a kid.”

 _Oh shit,_ Dean thought. Here we go. Dad warned me…

“Alright, _Sam_.” Dean glanced aside at him; the redness in the teenager’s cheek had faded but the resentment in his eyes hadn’t. In fact, it had grown substantially.

“Adam, you need a bathroom break?”

Adam didn’t, but he knew that tone well. “Yeah, please.”

“Okay. There’s a Taco Bell coming up. We’ll stop there.”

He pulled into the parking lot and reached over to squeeze Sam’s thigh, warning him to stay put as Adam leaped out of the back seat and disappeared inside. Dean turned the ignition off and turned to face his sullen brother, who wasted no time getting to the point.

“You hit me in the face, Dean,” Sam spit out. “Not even 24 hours after beating my ass with a belt. And now you’re sucking up? Asking me to drive, stopping in Vail, and all this brotherly chick flick shit, to try to make it up to me? Not gonna work.”

“You deserved it, Sam,” Dean said flatly.

“That’s bullshit. Okay, wait - the belt, yeah. But the slap? No. You regret it, I know you do. Just admit it.”

“I don’t. Not even a little. I’m 22 years old and a father of two teenagers. I don’t have time for regrets. My duty is to keep you safe, and that’s what I’m gonna do. At any cost.”

Sam scoffed. “Keep me safe by doing _what_? Teaching me better comedic timing?”

“Stay in the car,” Dean warned as Sam reached over to the door handle. “I mean it. _Stay in the car._ ”

Sam did, but he glared at Dean again as if he could drill a hole right through him with his eyes.

“Or else what? You’ll take me over your knee?”

Dean sighed and looked up at the ceiling of the Impala. “You’ll be happy to know that the moment we entered Colorado, that shit became illegal from here to the Pacific, so you’re safe. Won’t happen again. So stop looking at me like you want me to spontaneously combust.”

“That’s not what I want,” Sam protested. “I want an apology.”

“The only one who needs to be apologizing is you. But I’m not gonna hold my breath.”

Sam looked away now, staring out the window somberly. But not angrily, somehow.

“You left us thinking all day that Lafitte was going to split us up, Dean.”

“Now for _that_ , I deeply apologize. That was a seriously shitty thing to do.”

“Tell that to Adam,” Sam huffed.

“I absolutely will. Thank you for reminding me. Do you want something to eat?”

“Not at Taco Bell.”

“Alright. Can you go get Adam? Let him know World War 3 is over and he can return to the scene of the crime?”

Sam hesitated.

“It is over, right?” Dean prompted.

Sam shook his head. “No. There’s one more thing.”

“What?”

“What hold does Henrikson have over you? That’s what I want to know. Because no police captain in his right mind is going to chase a valuable informant out of town without witness protection processes in place. Yet we’re still out here running around under our real names, with the same license plates, and the same credit cards.”

Dean laughed humorlessly. “You watch too many cop shows, Sam.”

“No, I don’t watch any, actually. I read about actual cases a lot, though. And there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Sam turned dark eyes on his brother, who shuddered a little, the smile falling off his face instantly.

“Sam-”

“Tell me. I can handle it. What did you do?”

Dean swallowed hard and wrung his hands together. 

“I...it’s complicated, Sam.”

“I’m smart. Just lay it on me.”

Dean took a deep breath. “I...shit. You remember when we went to Topeka last week?”

“Yeah.”

“Well.” Here goes. “I was out bounty hunting with...with an illegal firearm. On state property, which I didn’t know. Anyway, the surveillance camera narced on me and Henrikson called me out. Said if I didn’t cooperate on the Crowley thing, I’d go to jail and you two would be taken away. Okay? Not my proudest moment, obviously. I had to go to Topeka to turn in the gun, too. That’s why we were there. So yeah, you’re right. He had something on me. But we’re good now.”

Sam fell quiet, and seemed completely caught off guard by the explanation. Which, other than Dean lying about why he was out hunting, was actually completely true. 

“Why do you bounty hunt?”

“Because it pays well, why else? But now we have enough money that I can quit doing it for good and make an honest living. Like I said, everything I do - without exception - is for you and Adam. So every time you disrespect me it’s like, I don’t know, stabbing me in the back. Okay? I’m gonna go get Adam while you take a moment to let that sink in, okay?”

Sam nodded. 

Dean took his time with his errand and ordered a couple of tacos to munch on before going back to the car with Adam in tow. The younger teenager said nothing, he knew Dean’s expressions very well. They got in the car together and Dean handed Sam a large cup of iced tea, unsweetened as usual.

“Decide where you want to eat yet?”

Sam picked up the paperback book that was on the floor. “Yeah, I was...um, in this road guide, there’s a German restaurant in Vail that looks really good. Not expensive at all. Can we try that?”

Dean nodded. “Yup. We’re 45 miles out. Why don’t you look up a hotel for us, too? Something cheap so we can stay a couple days. That sounds good?”

Sam nodded, his voice as far away as Lawrence was behind them. “Yeah. That sounds really good, Dean.”

“Wanna drive?”

“No, I just...I just want to enjoy the scenery, if that’s okay.”

“Sure thing.”

”I’ll drive!” Adam offered, but Dean shook his head.   
  
”Not on these winding roads, too dangerous. But you can drive clear across Nevada if you want. It’s actually called ‘the lonliest road in America.’ Sound good?”

”Yeah!”

Dean slowly let out all the air he’d accumulated painfully in his chest over the last five minutes, then put his foot on the gas and pulled Baby gently back onto the highway. Adam was asleep a few minutes later, and Dean glanced aside at Sam after double checking his next exit number.

“You know what?” Dean said softly, his voice perilously unsteady. “You’re actually right about one thing. That slap. I overreacted. Got too much dad in me sometimes, I guess. Shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry, Sam.”

”He never slapped you.”

”He did, a few times.”

”And you think you deserved them?”

”Yeah, actually.”

“Thought so,” Sam grunted as he turned to stare out the side window. 

“You forgive me?”

Silence again. 

“Sam?”

“Not yet, Dean. I will, just...give me a minute,”

Dean swallowed hard, and focused his eyes back onto the windy, narrow road. For an hour afterwards Dean waited with bated breath, hoping Sam would speak of it again, but he never did. Not even after spending three whole days in Vail.


	8. Chapter 8

**June - 6 months before the arrest**

There were really only two ways the rest of the trip could go, as far as Dean figured. Sam could either revert back to his obnoxious ways and drive both his brothers crazy, or he could keep up his new overly-polite, painfully diplomatic demeanor and just keep Dean crawling up the walls in frustration.

Something told Dean it was going to be the latter, and he was absolutely fucking dreading getting back in the car to leave Vail. Sam still didn't want to drive, for whatever reason, and Dean wasn't in the mood to be gracious to Adam. He told him sit in the backseat again, which nearly caused a fight after Sam volunteered to trade places and then changed his mind at the last second. Thus began the eight hour trip to Salt Lake City, with Adam in the back again and none of the brothers on speaking terms until Grand Junction.

"May we stop to use a potty, big brother Dean?" Sam asked in that maddening, infuriatingly calm manner he'd adopted back in Goodland, Kansas a few days ago.

"You're 17 years old," Dean replied flatly, before he stopped himself and sucked in a deep breath. Sam was trying to provoke him, yes, and he was a fool for letting it happen. "You guys hungry?" he added cheerfully.

"Starving," Adam said from the backseat.

"Not hungry," Sam answered, too loudly - which told Dean he was secretly starving.

"Okay. There's a truck stop in one mile and looks like it has a restaurant. Adam and I will go eat. Sam, I'll give you money to buy some snacks and drinks and gas up the car. And Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me next time you get hungry. Don't let it get to the point of starving."

There was a telling pause from the youngest Winchester. "I didn't want to make you mad by asking you to stop so soon."

Sam laughed - too loud, again - so Dean looked sharply over at him, then gently pulled the car onto the offramp and looked for the signs to the truck stop. He suddenly felt an urge to pull a John Winchester and make Sam get out of the car for an attitude adjustment, but fought it off and focused on the directions.

"Take a right," Adam said quickly, and Dean turned accordingly, slamming on the brakes to avoid a rabbit running across the road before continuing on without remarking on it. But his mind lingered as he saw both brothers' eyes on him. The last time they had visited Dad a few days ago in Stull cemetery, they had arrived to find a dead, mutilated rabbit on John Winchester's grave.

The grim coincidence suddenly made Dean's appetite evaporate as he pulled up to the restaurant's parking lot and parked next to the front door. He pulled out his wallet and gave Sam $30. "For snacks. Don't get all healthy stuff this time. Come on, Adam."

The oldest and youngest Winchesters sat down in a booth while Dean kept one eye on the menu and one eye on Sam, who was wandering around in the nearby convenience store without really looking at anything. Dean knew him incredibly well; there was no doubt he was regretting saying he wasn't hungry.

"That was kind of mean, Dean," Adam said in a low tone, instantly dragging Dean's thoughts back to the table.

"What?"

"Not letting Sam eat with us."

"I didn't-"

"Yeah you did," Adam said firmly. "If he can't eat, I don't want to either."

Adam started to stand up, but Dean reached over and stopped him with a strong hand on his shoulder. " _Sit_."

"I'm not a dog!"

Dean was a little taken aback by both the tone and hostile expression with which this declaration was delivered, and it took him a long moment to find his tongue again after he had pushed his brother back down on his butt.

"You're right. Sorry. But if you use that tone with me again, we're gonna have an unpleasant chat about it." Dean set his menu hard and got up to make his way to Sam, who pretended not to see him coming up alongside him.

"Sam. Sam?"

"Oh, hi."

"Oh, hi," Dean parroted sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "Adam's pissed at me because he thinks I'm making you starve. Go remind him you're not hungry so I can eat in peace, please."

Sam's eyebrows furrowed together, and he didn't reply right away. Which was exactly what Dean expected.

"I knew you were hungry. Go join your brother," Dean said with a slight incline of his head back towards the cafe. "I'm gonna go make a few calls."

Sam tilted his head quizzically. "Calls? To who?"

"I haven't made a hotel reservation for tonight," Dean lied. "Just gonna call around for some rates. Go on."

Sam took a deep breath and planted his feet more firmly. He was at perfect eye level with his brother now, which Dean knew wasn't going to last for much longer. The kid was destined to play basketball or something.

"I'm sorry I was acting stupid in the car," Sam said quickly. "I just…"

"You just what?" Dean prompted. "You know you're rubbing off on Adam, right? He's being a little shit to me now, too. You're supposed to set an example for him, Sam!"

Sam scoffed. "Fine. Why don't I follow your example and go slap in him the face? That'll get him to behave, right?"

Dean shook his head and swallowed down the anger and irritation that had instantly taken over his entire body from head to toe. "You ever known me to apologize more than once?" he asked steadily.

"Yeah, when you're _actually_ sorry."

Dean yanked the money out of Sam's hands. "Go join your brother. You can explain your behavior to me at our hotel tonight, in private."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "You mean the hotel we already have booked, that you just lied about not booking yet?"

Dean tensed up and clutched the ten dollar bills as if he could squeeze an answer out of them.

"How did you know that?"

San shook his head and narrowed his eyes further. "I didn't. Gut feeling. Yeah, we definitely need to talk later, but I'm not the one who needs to be doing the explaining."

\-------

"Castiel?"

Nothing. Dean clutched his wallet in his hands and stared at the floor again. He was proud of himself for barely spending any of the cash he had - the hotel in Vail had given him one night free when he joined their loyalty club - but it was time to put a deposit down on the 3-bedroom rental house he'd found only 25 minutes from Stanford University. That would wipe out half of what he had left, and without an immediate job, he wouldn't even be able to afford the second month's rent. He looked up at the ceiling again.

"Castiel? Come on, man!" Dean hissed.

Nothing. Dean sighed heavily. His brothers were waiting for him in the car. He'd faked a stomachache half an hour from Grand Junction and pulled over to a chain restaurant known for their large, private bathrooms. There was a knock; someone was standing outside the door right now, waiting for him to exit. The thought that it could be Sam or Adam overhearing him worried him extremely, so he went over to the sink and washed his hands, then called Castiel's name one more time. For a brief moment he thought the angel might appear; there was a strange energy in the room and a blast of wind, but it was just the heat or a/c kicking on from a large vent above his head. He turned to wash his hands and glare at himself in the mirror.

_Fuck you, Castiel. I don't need your help anyway._

\--------

"Dean?"

"What, Sam?"

"We gonna talk anytime soon? It's midnight. Adam's out cold, so now's the time."

Dean looked up from the book about living in California that he had purchased at Borders in Vail.

"Yeah. I wasn't gonna call any hotels, you're right. I was calling apartment buildings. I haven't found us a place to live yet, and I didn't want to worry you guys."

Sam tilted his head in the way that always incited Dean to brace himself for a fight.

"Why didn't you just say that? We've been in this hotel all night. Hell, the three of us could have been taking turns making calls, instead of just watching you sit there with your nose buried in a book."

"Cuz I'm worried about money, okay?" Dean barked. "That alright with you? I’m your guardian, I'm supposed to take care of you, and I don't know how the fuck I'm going to do it without having to borrow a shitload of-"

"Keep your voice down," Sam said quickly, with a glance at Adam, who had turned around and was now peeking out at them under one half-opened eyelid. Dean slammed his book shut.

"I don't have to explain anything to either of you. Until you're 18, you do what I tell you and you'll take what you get. Is that understood?"

Now both of the boys' eyes were wide open. Dean stood up, blushing deep red and hating himself thoroughly for overreacting and making such a fool of himself.

"Sorry. This…I'm taking shit out on you guys that isn't your fault. Listen, I'm gonna go get my own room for tonight. I need to sleep for like 12 hours in a real bed."

"Take this one," Adam said, jumping up instantly. "I got the couch."

"No, stay there. I just need some privacy. I love you guys, but being stuck in the car for so long with both of you would drive anyone over the edge." He grimaced as he turned around and picked up his duffle. "Don't wake me up or anything tomorrow. I'll come to your door when I'm ready to go, even if we have to pay for a late check out. Then we'll go have a good lunch. Okay?"

Dean was acutely aware of his brothers' eyes following his every move as he walked around the room and picked up all the things he had discarded when they'd arrived. And he really did want to sleep, that was all; his thoughts were far away from Castiel now and focused on more long-term practical concerns. Like how the fuck he was going to manage to keep them all off the streets.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, then added, "I'll call you guys and give you my room number when I get settled. Write it down in case of emergency."

"Okay," Sam replied gloomily. "Sweet dreams."

"Thanks."

The second thing Dean did when he arrived to his room was order an adult movie, of course; once that long-neglected deed was done he was somewhat happily drifting off to sleep with his eyes half-open and his mind blissfully blank. He pulled his blanket over him completely, burrowing his head deeply underneath two huge feather pillows, and didn't wake up for 11 hours.

\-------

"Hello, Dean."

"Sam?" Dean mumbled into the darkness. Actually, no, it wasn't dark, but the sleep mask his hotel had provided him was somehow still firmly plastered over his eyes. "What are you…"

No. That wasn't Sam. Dean froze, then reached up and pulled up a corner of the black eye mask.

"How long have you been here?" he demanded in a slurred, heavy-tongued manner as sat up angrily and pulled the mask clear off, deeply regretting it upon being instantly blinded by the noon sun. "You been watching me sleep all night, creep?"

"I only arrived fourteen seconds ago. I was hoping to speak while you are still…covered up. For your comfort of course, not mine."

Despite his naked body suddenly flushing hot, Dean shivered underneath the fake down duvet. "I've been trying to reach you for days. And you choose now to come calling? _Really_?"

"I don't perch on your shoulder all day, Dean," Castiel replied with a sneer. "I'll come to talk to you when I'm ready, not the other way around."

Dean blinked, then laughed bitterly. "I…okay, then. Wow."

"We'll talk more later. Right now I just need to tell you to go to Saratoga."

"Sara…Toga? Who the hell's that?"

"Saratoga is the town in California where you will be living from now on. You need to find a place to stay there."

Dean shook his head. "No, I found a house to rent in San Jose-"

"You'll live in Saratoga," Castiel replied firmly. "This isn't up for debate."

"Oh, hell no," Dean replied angrily as he rubbed his eyes vigorously to help himself wake up. "Listen, Castiel, I appreciate the money you gave me, but it wasn't an agreement to be your little circus monkey. I..."

Dean looked around the empty room, resisting the urge to jump out of bed stark naked to investigate the closet and bathroom.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" he yelled to no one in particular, suddenly feeling like his blood pressure could blow the ceiling off the hotel if he didn't calm down.

\-------

**\--Two days later--**

"Where we heading today, Dean?" asked Adam sleepily as Dean rolled him over in bed and sat an orange juice and chocolate croissant on the night stand of the Vacaville Rodeway Inn.

"Palo Alto. Gonna take a look around the Stanford Campus to check out Sammy's new digs, then we'll check out some neighborhoods and see if there's anything we like. Sam, you awake?"

"Yeah," said the big lanky teenager as he struggled to wake up and sit upright. Dean smiled at him; Sam had been truly on his best behavior since learning Dean was so worried about money, and had even gone after Adam once for being a brat about something or another. The past 48 hours had been unusually happy and chatty ones for the family, despite Dean's growing distraction over matters the younger Winchesters didn't dare ask about again.

"Sam? I know I conked out early last night. Did you two talk about any of that research you did?"

"Mmhmmm." Sam had asked Dean to find a hotel with a computer lab so that he could go online and check out some suburbs around the university, but they ended up stopping at a library for almost three hours just outside Sacramento because it offered free printing services up to ten pages, of which all three brothers took advantage. The thirty-page packet was scattered all over the bed; apparently one of the boys had fallen asleep mid-perusal.

"Anything you're willing to share?" Dean prompted.

"Not willing to, but I have to. It's really expensive, Dean," Sam said carefully. "I think that maybe…maybe this was a mistake. I can go to community college for two years and transfer to Stanford. If I don't get the scholarships, I mean. Which I won't."

"Why won't you?"

"Well, for one thing…"

Dean's heart dropped. "What?"

"Um. It's just…it's too late."

"It's too late?'

Sam nodded. "The deadlines to file for scholarships passed after I made up my mind. I'd have to do loans now."

Dean glanced at Adam, who blanched and set down his glass of orange juice. "I'm gonna take a shower," the youngest Winchester announced - too loudly, perhaps; Dean nodded at him gratefully. Once he was in the bathroom and the water running, Sam spoke up again.

"I fucked up," he said gloomily.

"Yes, you did," Dean replied almost viciously, but nothing could be done now. Nothing, and he didn't want to spoil the progress they'd made in the past two days. "But, you're smart, you're dedicated, and you're gonna make a ton of money when you're a lawyer. You can pay those loans back in record time. So don't give me this community college crap again. Not happening."

"At least…we, I mean, I could save money living with you guys…but we can't afford to live anywhere near the campus. I'd need a car, and…"

"Samuel," Dean began firmly, "you don't need to worry about rent money. That's my job. You worry about your college experience. What do you want? Don't tell me now. Figure it out and let me know."

"I already did, and you wouldn't accept my answer! I don't want to fucking go to Stanford!"

Dean didn't budge a millimeter, but he made certain his tone was gentle and fatherly. "Yes, you do. And it's okay to want that, Sammy. It's awesome. You're not abandoning us, you're not gonna make me go bankrupt. I moved us out here for a reason - to be close to you. And we will be, if we have to live two hours away instead of ten minutes. You're gonna be so sick of us, you'll probably wish we had stayed behind in Kansas so you can have more time with your new friends."

"No."

"Okay, maybe I'm wrong about that part. We're cooler than any college kids, anyway. What did you find out about the neighborhoods around here? There, I mean. Anything strike your fancy?"

"Strike my fancy? Who even says that?" Sam grumbled with a small smirk. It was a start. Good.

Dean picked up his coffee and watched the rainbow of emotions cross Sam's face, several times, as the teenager collected all the papers with shaky hands and put them back together in some semblance of order. It took time, with several pauses for food, but Dean didn't push him go any faster. He just relaxed into the side chair and tried not to think about Castiel and Saratoga.

"From what I found," Sam began, "the cheapest areas are at least 25 minutes away by car, and that's with no traffic. But still, it's so pricey. How much were we paying in Lawrence for rent?"

"Not a lot," Dean admitted. "You have to remember that pay is much higher in California, too, so that will help offset some of the increased cost of living."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Well, at any rate, we'd have to go south. Maybe southeast, to San Jose. Of course, if I lived in the dorms, you guys could live farther. But anyway, there's a town called Saratoga that has a huge low-income apartment building we'd qualify for. That's the closest I could get, and it looks pretty nice."

Dean sat straight up and gulped back the rest of his coffee. "Okay. Where else?"

"Well, as I said, San Jose. Which is huge, we found a lot of places that aren't too high in price. But it would probably have to be two bedrooms, is that okay?"

"Sure. For how much?"

"The lowest I found online was $2,000, and it's pretty close to the freeway so it would be easy for me to get back and forth."

Dean was suddenly deeply grateful for having already swallowed his coffee; if he hadn't, it surely would have been spit out halfway across the room at that number. He kept his expression carefully blank once he was finally able to make a reply.

"Um. We might have to go further out. What else did you find?"

\-------------

"Okay, Castiel. I'm here. I'm in Saratoga, as you said. What the hell do you want me to do now?"

Dean glanced at the mini-fridge in his hotel room; he didn't know if it was full of liquor and had no intention of looking, just in case. He needed to keep his faculties intact for what was coming next, no matter how stressful the day had been. The little family hadn't found any apartment buildings they all agreed on, which was actually to Dean's great relief - he couldn't afford any of them, anyway. And halfway through the day he had stopped to check on the status of the three-bedroom rental house he'd found in San Jose, only to learn it was no longer available.

"I don't have time for this shit," Dean said aloud. "My brothers are gonna be back in an hour, so if your feathery ass is going to make an appearance it better be now."

Nothing. Of course. Dean waited a minute, then got up and paced around. He didn't dare go take a piss, for fear of the trenchcoated douchebag showing up at yet another highly inopportune moment. After ten minutes of pacing, he gave up and flopped down on the bed in despair, hugging a pillow over his face in an effort to stop himself from screaming Castiel's name (and probably several curse words) at the top of his lungs.

He stayed that way for so long he nearly fell asleep, but he was jerked upright by the sudden, intense feeling that he was no longer alone. And he was right. By reflex alone he flung the pillow at his intruder, who deftly caught it and set it back down on the bed.

"I was occupied by other concerns for the last half an hour. I only have a few minutes. Are you ready to talk without insulting or threatening me?"

Dean swallowed hard and got off the bed, nearly backing himself into a corner without realizing it. "I just…I have a question. Did you talk to my dad like this? Because I can't imagine he'd put up with your shit for even two seconds. No offense, of course."

"The town of Saratoga lies at the base of the Santa Cruz Mountains," Castiel began, as if merely citing an entry from an encyclopedia. "We wish for you to move your hunting grounds here, due to the abundance of prey. If you do, your financial concerns will no longer be a source of stress for you. Do you agree?"

Dean's heart was in his throat to the point where he felt like he couldn't breathe all of a sudden.

"Dean?" Castiel prompted. "I am short on time. Please respond."

"Give me a minute to process, maybe, for fuck's sake," Dean said quickly. "I mean, I knew that's what you were gonna say since we last talked. I'm not stupid, I figured out why you've got my balls in a vice grip. But why me? Out of all the dozens of hunters out there who have more experience?"

"Precisely because you're not stupid. Most hunters are loners who tend to go rogue at the most inopportune times because they have nothing to lose. I was permitted to select you because you are more likely to not go rogue."

"You mean…I have something to lose. My brothers," Dean choked out. "Which is why you picked my dad, too, right?"

"I can't answer that."

"Which means yes. Who is the 'we' you keep referring to?"

Castiel cocked his head. "I'm not obliged to explain anything more until we have an understanding and an agreement. At that point I can answer more questions. As it stands now, I made an offer which I already know you're going to accept, so I will be leaving now. Look away."

"No! You're not gonna do this 'drop a bomb and leave' thing on me right now. Explain where we're gonna live, how I'm going to hide this from my brothers, and…how I can afford it. You're just going to show up with a bag full of cash every now and then to keep me on my toes?"

"Yes."

"Yes?" Dean repeated dumbly. "Are you serious?"

Castiel pointed behind Dean, who learned the first time around not to follow the angel's finger. "Turn away," he commanded again. "I have to go now."

"No."

Castiel sighed and then disappeared, the resulting blue flash so intense that Dean was knocked straight down to the floor as if it were a physical blow. He was indeed blinded, holy fuck, he couldn't see a damn thing for at least a good minute as he blinked his eyes hundreds of times to try and clear away the grey curtains darkening his view. His head was pounding and his ears ringing so loud that he couldn't speak. It was like spikes were driven through both his eyes and ears. He just lay there on the floor in agony, panting like a dog, praying for several minutes straight for his brothers to return and take him to the hospital, when he suddenly felt a red-hot press of fingers to his forehead. Instantly, Dean's vision and hearing were back to normal as if at never happened. He lay there gasping like a fish out of water, staring up at Castiel in an ugly combination of indignation and terror.

"What the…hell was…that?"

"What the heaven, actually. I'll let you keep the headache as a souvenir. Let's try that again. Look away, Dean."

"Fuck you," Dean grumbled angrily as he threw an arm over his eyes, then turned over on his side and vomited all over the floor just as the telltale whoosh of cold air filled the room. Once that happened, Dean peeled his eyes open to make sure he was alone. He was. He staggered to his feet, zombie-walked into the bathroom, and threw up twice more into the toilet.

\-----------------------

"Thanks for driving, Sammy."

"Sure. Dean…this is so weird. I mean, we've all eaten the same thing for the past couple of days. But you're the only one who got sick." Sam looked over his shoulder at Dean laying in the back seat.

"Keep your eyes on the road," Dean barked, the booming sound of his own voice inside his skull making him nearly retch again. "I told you, it's a migraine, not a stomach thing."

"Keep an eye on him, Adam," Sam murmured.

"I am."

Dean looked up to the right and found his youngest brother staring down at him worriedly. "I'm fine," Dean repeated for the tenth time in five minutes. "Give your brother directions so we don't get lost."

"Okay, sorry for caring. Geez."

Dean didn't listen to his brothers talking for the next ten minutes or so; he was too busy forming the insults and accusations in his mind that he would spew at Castiel next time the creature showed up to taunt him and fuck with his head, mentally and physically.

"We're here," Sam said eventually. "This is…this is a big house, Dean. Are you sure this is it?"

Dean peeled himself off the leather seat and looked up, feeling a rare thrill of pleasure in his bones at the sight of the pretty brick structure…a pleasure that he actually hated after about two seconds. This wasn't his doing. He hadn't earned it. Fuck you Castiel.

"It's not that big," Dean commented as he opened the back door and pushed it open. 'You guys are just used to tiny little apartments. I'll be back in a little bit."

"How can we afford this?" Sam asked from the driver seat, through the partially rolled-down window. The Impala was still running and not even in park yet.

"I don’t know if we can. I'm about to find out. Stay put, both of you." Dean made his way up the brick steps and towards the man and woman standing out front. She was holding a big folder full of papers and talking on a newfangled portable phone.

"Dean Winchester," he said, holding out his hand. The man shook it, while the woman nodded and smiled, then turned away.

"Sorry," the man said. "She's on an important call. Come in."

"Thank you," Dean murmured as he took the folder.

"Take a look around," the man said, regarding Dean worriedly. "You okay, son?"

Dean swallowed. "I'm so sorry, I know I look like hell and a half. I've suffered from migraines for years but haven't had one in a while. It hit me hard this morning, and I can barely keep my eyes open. That's why my brother was driving my car."

"Ah. Gotcha. Legally, I hope?"

Dean smiled a little. "Yeah. Thanks, I'll look around for a minute. Won't take too much of your time."

"Do you have the money order?" the man asked.

"Yes, sir. In my car." Dean slowly walked around and peeked in each room, his traitor of a heart swelling in happiness with each step. The boys were going to love this place, there was no doubt. It was small, the kitchen cramped and the bathrooms in need of updating, but….

Dean shuddered. "Well it all looks good to me, sir. I'm happy. The little yard is cute, Adam will love that. I'll go ahead and sign the paperwork."

The man nodded and looked incredibly relieved, as if had been expecting Dean to decline.

"Thank you." Dean looked up and noticed something carved into the molding over the front door, then pointed at it. "Strange question for you. Was your previous tenant into the occult, by chance?"

"Yeah, sure was. Very odd duck. Had a bunch of guns, did hunting late at night. He raised a few eyebrows around here. You seem more wholesome, which is good. The neighbors have been on edge a little lately with that fellow. They'll be glad to know this house belongs to a real family again."

Dean nodded, then gulped. "Speaking of which, I'll go get my brothers. Hopefully they won't fight over which bedroom they want."

\------

Castiel showed up that evening precisely as Dean returned after dropping the boys off at a movie theater, much to Dean's surprise and…yes, displeasure. He had partially hoped he wouldn't have an excuse, just to stay mad at him longer.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hi. You really put the lord in landlord, don't you?"

"I don't understand that reference. What do you want to talk about?"

"Oh gee, I don't know." Dean set down his notebook. "How about those Giants, huh?"

Castiel rolled his eyes. "What are you mad at me for now? I came exactly when you asked. You have a house, you have money. Maybe this was a mistake and I should have chosen someone else."

"Maybe one who doesn't complain about being manipulated. What's up with this house? There are sigils carved above the doors. Salt grains still on the windowsills. Another hunter lived here before me. How did I happen to end up in this house, exactly? Out of all those listings Sam found? I don't believe in coincidences, Castiel. Start talking."

"I can't answer anything until you agree to proceed under my direction, starting immediately."

"I'm moving into this stupid house in Saratoga. What does that tell you, other than I have no other fucking choice at the moment?"

"Your anger is unwarranted," Castiel replied calmly. "Do you wish me to come back at a later time, when you're more open to discussion?"

"Tell me what happened to the hunter who lived here first."

"He died by his own hand. Right where you're standing, actually."

Dean shook off the gruesome imagery of his dad's own suicide, and ignored the suddenly strong desire to ask Castiel if he'd been there for it. It took him a few long moments to redirect his mind away from what might be an answer he'd never quite recover from.

"What do you want from me?"

"To start hunting immediately, and often, in order to justify your place in the chain of hunters that heaven has sworn to protect."

Dean cringed. "What happens if I don't?"

"You will."

"You're a cocky little shit. It's infuriating how you think you can guess my every step, you know that?"

"Have I been wrong yet?" Castiel asked pointedly as he gestured around the house - yes, in Saratoga - which did nothing whatsoever to assuage Dean's temper. Especially because he knew he never had any other choice in the first place.

"You want to be my sugar daddy. No free will, but lots of cash. Am I correct?"

"I don't understand what you mean by sugar daddy. But yes, the other part is essentially correct."

Dean was intensely annoyed to find that he didn't object to this arrangement outright, no matter how much he wanted to.

"I like to hunt. I want to hunt. But I'm not going to commit that easily. I have terms."

"I'm sure you do. But as I said, I will not be answering any questions without gaining your commitment first."

"I want to know your real relationship with my dad. I want a full ride for Sam at Stanford. That means a scholarship. Throw in a car for him, too. And I want to know how the fuck you knew I was thinking about slitting dad's throat that night. Lastly, I want an exact schedule of how much money I'm getting and when, so I'm not stressing the fuck out wondering if I can feed my family for another week."

"Scholarship done. You'll get two thousand per week deposited into your checking account. I'm not getting Sam a car, that's what the money's for, so do it yourself."

Dean nodded. "And my other questions? I mean, you already said I'm going to agree to all this, right? So what are you afraid of?"

Castiel shrugged. "You have a point. You are going to consent, and my answers won't change that. My real relationship with your dad? I didn't have one. Never spoke to him, although I was witness to many of his conversations. How did I know you were in that room with a knife, holding it to his neck? You're right, I was there. Any other questions?"

Dean shuddered again for what seemed like the tenth time today. He hadn't expected Castiel to answer any of his questions, much less all of them, in the space of less than one minute.

"Did you…did you do some kind of weird mind-meld to stop me from doing it? Because I tried, and I couldn't get the courage."

"No. You had all the courage and stupidity required to do such a thing. I can't affect free will, Dean, but I can still stop certain physical, non-willed things from happening. Like keeping that truck from crashing into your apartment. Or keeping a blade from slicing a throat."

Dean nodded, and felt his body flush cold. "So you…you placed yourself there and…and you blocked his neck somehow."

Castiel shook his head. "Not quite. Think about it."

Dean did, but not for long. He'd never forget what happened afterwards. He'd had unexplained burns marks around his wrists for weeks, and had to wear long sleeves for a week to hide them.

"And the truck? Who sent that to crash into my apartment?"

"Nobody. It lost its brakes. Normally I wouldn't be allowed to interfere with destiny in that manner, but knowing how it would affect you, I…I had no choice but to change its course."

Dean's anger, hatred, irritation, and indignation towards Castiel suddenly melted away into nothing. Tears began to flow freely from his eyes and dripped down his cheeks.

"I remember that night. With the knife. The burns. Thank you for holding me back. I mean, I guess you were obliged to and all, in order to save his life."

"I didn't do it to save your dad's life."

Dean wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked up questioningly. "What? Then…then why-"

"I was never John's protector, Dean," Castiel said steadily, looking Dean straight in the eyes with that uncomfortably intense blue stare. "I'm yours. I did it to save you."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: discussion of suicide, along with complete deviation of what we know about angel lore / heaven mythology from the show. This is where the fic takes on a life of its own as far as why Castiel has chosen to reveal himself to Dean. I would LOVE any comments you have, even if you hate it. Thank you so much.

Learning that he’d been watched by a guardian angel for his 22 years threw Dean off so badly that he actually asked Castiel to leave and never come back. He didn’t know why he did that; he wasn’t exactly mad. It was just a lot to process. He had so many questions. Too many questions, and knowing Castiel wouldn’t answer them fully pissed him off before they even got started. As it was, the angel made it clear his time was precious and that he couldn’t sit around all night and explain 22 years away to his young charge.

But that wasn’t what Dean wanted right now, anyway. He wanted space, and Castiel was more than glad to give it to him. But first things first.

“Can you help me get rid of this headache?” he asked feebly, hating that his voice shook a little.

Castiel stepped forward and pressed a finger to the sweaty forehead.

“I take it you’ve learned your lesson on that front,” the deep voice rumbled. It wasn’t a question, but Dean answered it anyway.

“You mean the lesson in which you’re basically willing to torture me to get your way? Yeah, heard that one loud and clear.”

Castiel took a step back. “That’s not what happened.”

“It absolutely fucking is what happened. You left me on the floor writhing in pain-”

“I warned you.”

“I don’t fucking care!” Dean blurted angrily. “Don’t ever do that again! Or else I’m going back to Kansas with my brothers, and I won’t give a shit if Crowley kills me off or not. I’d rather die than be your puppet.”

“Again with the anger,” the angel murmured.

“You better fucking believe it. You’ve been watching me for 22 years and don’t know what makes me tick? Really? Get the fuck out of my house! Or rather, the house that you tricked me into living in. I’m only doing this for my brothers, let me make that clear right now. I don’t give a shit about you or your other heavenly creatures, or whatever the hell you call yourselves.”

“I’m an angel of the Lord.”

“There’s no such thing. Get out.”

Dean looked away automatically, but nothing happened. He waited a minute, then turned back around.

“Why are you still here? Hoping to see me naked again or something?”

“You know angels exist, so cut the crap, as you humans love to say. You have questions. When you’re ready, I’ll answer what I can. But now, I have to go. Look away.”

Dean turned around again and waited until the woosh swept over him before he sat down on the floor and picked up his notebook and pen. He still wasn’t mad, despite his tone to the contrary. Castiel must have known that, which is why he remained so maddeningly calm. He also probably knew what questions Dean was going to ask and had already formed his answers long in advance.

But Dean began writing anyway.

**ONE HOUR LATER**

Castiel returned again an hour later, slightly friendlier and with more time to spare.

First things first. Dean immediately asked again about the incident in John’s bedroom, late at night. Asked Castiel to recap the entire incident.

“Exactly as I implied, Dean. I held on to your wrists until you gave up.”

“You _burned_ me!”

“An unfortunate side effect of my efforts. But your destiny was not to sit in juvenile hall for 20 years.”

Dean laughed bitterly. “That might have been a better life, to be honest. What if it was dad’s time to die, and you screwed up some kind of future timeline? What if this is an alternate reality we’re in right now?”

Castiel shook his head. “It wasn’t his time. Humans die when their angels die. Not always immediately. But disease, accidents, heart attacks, et cetera…those events all get triggered after an angel’s fall. Sometimes there is a pattern within families, but usually it’s a randomly selected demise.”

Dean was utterly dumbfounded by that statement and wasn’t even sure he had heard correctly. He made Castiel repeat it again, then again.

“So you’re saying…all humans have guardian angels?”

Castiel nodded silently.

“My dad killed himself. Who was watching him then?”

Castiel took a deep breath. “My brother Uriel. There was nothing he could do.”

Dean felt hot tears springing to his eyes, but forced them back. “Nothing? He just sat by and let dad put a gun in his mouth, huh? What kind of lousy fucking guardian angel is that?”

“A guardian angel is not permitted to directly deny free will, as I said. Suicide falls under that category. Murder does not, which was why I was permitted to stop you.”

Dean scoffed. “People get murdered every day. Explain that! And don’t say destiny.”

“It’s too complicated, Dean. There’s an entire algorithm to those things that would take months to explain.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Fine. How about little babies…you know, these innocent little newborns who die in their cribs overnight for no reason at all. You’re telling me that happens because their angels died that night, too? That it’s just bad luck?”

Castiel nodded again. “Doctors have given a name to a condition that does not exist.”

“I don’t get it,” Dean sputtered angrily. “What kind of fucked up alleged god designs that kind of unjust world?”

“There are also people who live to be over a hundred, Dean. The universe balances out in its own way.”

“No,” Dean shook his head and paced the room irregularly. “I can’t believe it. No way.”

“I have no method of proving it to you, so let’s just move on to the next question.”

“Fine. Let’s do, before I have a stroke. Who are Sam and Adam’s angels?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not allowed to know those things until after the fact.”

“Okay, next questions. You said you stopped that truck from crashing into my house. That means my brothers were about to die – because their angels died, right? So how are they still alive now?”

“They were never destined to die, because I saved them.”

“What if you hadn’t?”

Castiel shrugged. “I was already destined to save them, so their angels didn’t have to do anything.”

“What if you had chosen not to? Or what if you couldn’t? What if the truck driver was deliberately trying to crash into the place, but nobody was gonna die? Isn’t that you affecting free will again?”

“There is no ‘what if’ in my world, Dean. We don't have plan B's. It happened exactly as it was supposed to.”

“Except for babies, and murdered people with neglectful angels.” Dean’s head felt like exploding - this was too much to take in, but also not enough. “How about my own world? Planet Dean Winchester. Do I ever have a choice in anything?”

“Of course you do. Free will, as I said. You could have rejected my offer and stayed in Kansas.”

“But you can force me into doing whatever you want by changing what choices I have.”

“You’re oversimplifying it.”

“Am I? Really?” Dean shook his head and stared at his new friend. Foe? Whatever. “Funny thing I heard on the news today. There was a fire at a house in San Jose, burned it down to the ground. By coincidence, it was the same exact one I was going to rent before I ended up here. And _here_ happened to be listed on a flyer left on my windshield at the hotel, at a price I can afford, formerly occupied by a hunter and already guarded by sigils. I take it those things weren’t exactly coincidences.”

Castiel said nothing. So that was a no.

“I don’t like being manipulated. You need to stop.”

“Then start doing what I tell you to do, and it won’t be necessary. I know it’s hard to wrap your mind around this concept, but everything really does happen for a reason. It’s not just a cutesy saying.”

“For a reason, huh? Like babies dying and people being murdered? Or an innocent person’s house burning down because you didn’t want me to live in San Jose?” Dean was crying now, although silently, and he couldn’t seem to wipe the tears away fast enough. They just kept coming like a leaky hose.

“Obviously my attempt to explain this situation has gone entirely wrong,” Castiel mused in an irritated tone.

“You think? How do angels die, anyway?”

“By falling out of favor with God. We call it losing our grace. Like human deaths, there are thousands of ways that happens. And it _will_ happen. Even to me.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “So…when I die, it’s because you pissed off your daddy?”

Castiel cocked his head. “That’s an odd way of putting it, and also not at all what I intended to convey to you.”

“What happened to Uriel, then?”

Castiel seemed to freeze in place for a moment, caught off guard. The hair on the back of Dean’s neck prickled intensely while he waited for the answer.

“Uriel didn’t fall from grace, as he was not permitted to intervene in John’s choice,” Castiel replied. “Angels are always given a new human to protect after a suicide. That new human inherits part of the deceased’s legacy, by association with the angel. That’s exactly why some of you believe in having lived a previous life, even sharing the same memories and emotional characterics of that person. The phenomenon is in fact a real consequence of an unfulfilled destiny.”

Dean’s neck hairs stood straight up even stiffer. He’d never had that feeling, but Sam had. Sam was absolutely convinced he had lived a previous life. Now Dean knew that it was true, despite years of ridiculing him for that belief. _Holy shit._

“Who was Sam before he was…Sam?”

“Only Uriel will ever know. And God, of course. Dean…you appear to be on the verge of fainting,” Castiel observed flatly.

“Why are you here? Why…why show yourself? And not just manipulate me from afar?”

“Angels are allowed to show themselves to humans with confirmed knowledge of the Supernatural. Uriel chose not to introduce himself because he knew John’s destiny was ultimately out of his hands. Yours is not out of my hands, as long as you do what I say.”

“And…hunt what you want me to hunt. Because angels are not permitted to take lives, even of monsters. But I can.”

“It’s more complicated than that, but yes.”

“Why take me out of Kansas, then? There were plenty of things to kill there.”

“Including you. I could not protect you from Crowley any longer without revealing myself, which would have resulted in my immediately falling from grace, and thus your death, and the loss of your valuable hunting skills.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m confused. You said angels could intervene to prevent a murder?”

“Yes, but both sides have to do that. Crowley doesn’t have an angel, Dean. He’s not human.”

Dean’s head felt very light all of a sudden. “Oh fuck. He found out I was a hunter, didn't he? How?"

"He figured it out when you described me to him down to the trench coat and tie. I'm well known in his circles, let's just put it that way. The police report you made only confirmed my identity further, and he put two and two together quickly enough with the help of his associates. You would not have survived another 48 hours in Lawrence."

Dean felt like screaming. "Shit. I need to lay down. Can you, like, conjure up a soft bed or something?”

“No.”

“Fuck you.” Dean laid down on the floor and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, it was pitch black outside, and he was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who remember the timeline...Cas told Dean to leave Lawrence BEFORE Dean told Crowley about Castiel. So this might seem like a bit of a circular timeline or plot hole. But it's not, and will be explained in the next chapter. Thanks for reading xoxo


	10. Chapter 10

“First of all, Dean, I think I should clear up some of your misconceptions. I haven’t been watching your every move for twenty-two years. That’s a rather vain thing to assume.”

Dean looked up at Castiel as he put his car keys in his pocket, feeling heavily defeated by the fact that he couldn’t summon up any indignation about being left to sleep on the bare floor.

“I have to go get my brothers,” he finally said. “Really not in the mood for this right now because I’m kinda getting tired of you showing up and leaving again without any warning. Can we set a schedule or something?”

Castiel shrugged. “The nature of my work requires complete spontaneity, so no. Your second misconception is that you are my only responsibility. You’re not. Each angel oversees the lives of multiple humans. None of whom know each other, in case you’re wondering. That’s by design, of course. You would be relatively inconsequential to me, were it not for your particular skills.”

Dean shook his head and walked toward the front door. “I was going to ask you how many people you look after, but I just can’t. I don’t…I don’t _want_ know. There’s shit I don’t _need_ to know, like ever.”

“Approximately one thousand humans at a-”

“I just said I don’t wanna know!” Dean barked as his hand reached the doorknob, but he didn’t turn it yet. “By the way, you can’t just put a couple thousand bucks in my bank account every week. It doesn’t work that way. For one, I’m a mechanic. No one in their right minds is going to pay me six figures a year. I don’t want you doing shit to make me look like I’ve got something suspicious going on with my bank accounts. I’ll need a lump sum off the bat instead.”

“Off the…bat?”

“Right away,” Dean amended. “That way I can explain to my brothers that it was payment for me helping bring down Crowley. Then once I find a job in a garage, I can live off that and maybe even have some savings. Once Sammy graduates Stanford I’ll move somewhere cheaper and manage on my own.”

“You’re not going to work in a garage, Dean. I’ve made it clear you will be hunting full time. If you do a good job, I may consider letting you leave the area after Sam graduates.”

“Excuse me?” Dean asked, his heart firmly lodged in his throat now.

“Do I need to repeat that?” Castiel asked innocently.

“Let’s get something straight right now. If I want to leave in four years, I will. Or in four days. You’re not allowed to interfere with my free will, remember? Your words, not mine. I’m not your fucking puppet!”

Castiel smirked just a little, and Dean’s heart nearly seized up in response. _Oh, shit. I am 100% his fucking puppet…_

“Dean, it might be helpful for you if you accept now that I always know when you’re bluffing. But I don’t see any point continuing this conversation while you’re so worked up.”

Dean was shaking with frustration as he yanked open the door. “Stop reading my goddamned mind. No one gave you permission to get inside my head!”

“I can’t read your mind. Monitoring the actions of a thousand human beings over 22 years has enabled me to predict behavior with a degree of accuracy that may not seem credible.”

“I’m leaving now.”

“Although I will admit you give me the most trouble on that point,” Castiel continued calmly, as if Dean wasn’t even speaking at all. “When humans make decisions, they demonstrate intention at some point, and that is what I’m able to read. From there, it’s much easier to guess what they’ll do next. You, on the other hand? You often act without intention or forethought. I nearly failed at saving John because of that. Luckily, his angel summoned me just in time, or I _would_ have failed.”

“You mean pissed off daddy and died, and me along with you?”

“And John. You asked me why murders happen? Now you know. Angels are very bad at predicting impulsive behavior. Failing to do so is the number one reason we lose our grace. And with you, it’s bound to happen sooner rather than later. I don’t have much hope for the long-term prospects of my flock.”

Dean took a deep breath and tried not to think about being responsible for a thousand people’s destinies. “I’d been fantasizing about seeing dad bleed out for years. So you definitely missed something, hate to tell you.”

Castiel shrugged. “You wouldn’t believe the dark things every single human fantasizes about on a daily basis. The vast majority isn’t acted upon. I did miss it, because you showed no intention of doing it. All the way up until the last minute, that is.”

“You should’ve let me do it.”

“Why?”

“He…forget it.” Dean wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “If you’ve been watching me that long, you already know how he treated me and Sam.”

“But also made you a hunter, and a damned good one. Heaven is thankful for his existence, which is why I was called to intervene that night. We needed you both. I’m going to leave now, Dean. I already know you’re going to do what you’re told, so there’s no need for further angst.”

_“Wait.”_

“Yes?”

Dean turned slowly to face Castiel, and then looked him straight in the eyes. “Are you telling me that John Winchester is…some kind of _hero_ to you clowns?”

“Clowns..?”

“Slip of the tongue. Angels.”

Castiel nodded.

“Don’t you _ever_ fucking mention his name again to me,” Dean growled. “It’s bad enough you stopped me from killing him. But singing his praises now, too? Just shut it. Permanently. You hear me? I still have PTSD from the very last beating he gave me four and a half years ago.”

“You threw a loaded gun at him. Another impulsive act for which you have only yourself to blame.”

“Shut the fuck up, Castiel. I mean it.”

Castiel looked Dean up and down and shut his mouth tightly. Yes, Dean absolutely meant it.

"You'll _never_ be able to justify the way my dad treated me. And yes, I know I can't hurt you. But it's gonna feel good all the same, if I get to shoot you in the fucking face right now because you won't leave.

“Very well. We’ll talk again soon. Look away.”

*

“What’s wrong, Dean?”

Sam’s forehead was furrowed nearly all the way home, and Dean didn’t unlock the car doors immediately upon arriving at the hotel. He just sat there, staring, while his brothers waited for the okay to get out. They always waited for his instructions without even realizing it.

“I slept a little while you guys were gone. Had some bad dreams. I… you know I regret not stopping dad from…”

“I know,” Sam said. “You’ve told me. Just let it go.”

“If you’re gonna talk about it, can I go inside?” Adam asked quietly from the backseat.

“Stay. I just want to tell you both something. Probably gonna be hard to hear. One night I slipped into dad’s room when he was passed out and…I was fifteen. Took a knife with me, held it over his throat. I wanted to do it so bad.”

The teens were so silent that Dean could hear his ears ringing.

“Anyway, I didn’t do it. Obviously. Still wish I had, though. Sam, you’d probably remember that night. He slapped me in front of Benny and Rufus and all the guys, then the next day after he’d sobered up he took a switch to my ass and tore it shreds.”

Sam nodded, his expression clearly indicating that incident would never be forgotten.

Dean let a tear drip down his cheek unmolested. “I'm so sorry for belting both of you in Lawrence.”

“Don't be. We deserved it,” Adam said quickly.

“No, you didn’t,” Dean replied emphatically. “I…I keep dreaming about waking up to Sam standing over me with a knife to my throat. And you know what? I sometimes want him to do it, because I feel so bad about how hard I went that day. I lost control. I want you both to know nothing like that will ever happen again. Understand me?”

No response. Dean turned and looked; both brothers were wiping their eyes.

“I’m sick of fighting,” Dean continued. “I want us to be happy. I’m…I’m getting a big payment for my help in bringing down Crowley, and with that money were going to be comfortable and safe and hopefully happy. But I’m going to tell you something else now, because I don’t want to lie to you two again. Ever.”

They both nodded, eyes wide and wet.

Dean took a deep breath. “I’m taking a job out here that requires me to work overnight, pretty much every night. I’m not gonna be a mechanic anymore.”

“Bounty hunting again?” Sam asked immediately, his throat dry.

“Yes,” Dean answered, a huge lump in his throat as he realized Adam was now privy to Dean’s big secret back in Lawrence. But it had to be done.

“I looked it up,” Sam answered quickly. “You said it was legal in Kansas. You lied.”

“Yes I did. However, it’s legal in California. Look that up when you get a chance. As I said, I’m not lying to you guys again. And that’s part of the reason I wanted to move out here.”

“Oh, shit. You…you’re on the run from the law?” Adam squealed in horror.

“No! Oh my god, no. Not even close. Shit, Adam. You’re smarter than that. Why would the police department have escorted us out all calmly if I was on the run?”

“To make sure you left Kansas so someone else could deal with you?” Sam suggested.

“No! To make sure we were safe from Crowley. Jesus, Sam. Get a grip. They never knew about the bounty hunting.”

“What the hell is bounty hunting?” Adam demanded, and Dean sucked in another painful breath as he pulled the hotel’s key card out of his shirt pocket.

“Oh, man. That’s a whole conversation I don’t want to have. But I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, either. Let’s go inside and have a chat.”

\-------------

**Ten Days Later**

“It’s time, Dean. Get up and do some research. You need to go out tonight.”

Dean nodded as he sat up in bed. “Where have you been?”

Castiel crossed his arms. “I wanted to give you time to…to get your priorities in order. I assume you have done so.”

“Yeah. I mean, the house is furnished, Adam’s taking the SAT today, and Sam’s meeting with his advisor at Stanford. I just…you pulled it together. The money and the scholarship, I mean. Thank you. But I…”

“What?”

“You know me. I don’t like having a handler. I really, r _eally_ don’t like it.”

Castiel nodded. “You don’t need one, normally, but I did tell you to start hunting three days ago and you didn’t do it. So that necessitated another visit. Look in today’s newspaper, page 7. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

A new case, then. Dean’s heart sped up a little in excitement, but also in dread. “I’ve spent the last two days at the gun range, getting back up to speed. I’m ready.”

“Good. I’ll take my leave, then.”

“Wait...I have a question I need to ask you, and pretty much everything here on out depends on your answer.”

“What?”

“I…I called Henriksen back in Lawrence to let him know we were safe and settled. Didn’t tell him where, of course. Just wanted to thank him, I guess.”

Castiel’s face was blank. “I know. I heard you tell Sam you were going to, despite me ordering you not to contact him again.”

Dean stood up. “I can call whoever I want, whenever I want. Thanks. The reason I'm bringing it up is because Henriksen said he didn’t remember me. Like I had the wrong number. No idea what I was talking about. Why would he act like that?”

“It wasn’t an act."

Dean was incredulous, staring open-mouthed at the trench-coated man. “I...I don’t understand.”

“Henriksen, among others, were compromised by a bribe from Crowley. I wiped their associated memories that would have endangered your existence.”

Dean was silent for a few beats, then he exploded. "You did what? You can't do that! What the fuck? Don't you ever-"

“Yes I can; in fact, I'm encouraged to do so in order to keep control. Every angel uses the technique at one point or another.”

“Control. Right. So much for free will,” Dean shot back petulantly. “No. It's wrong. Undo it."

“In case you’re wondering, no, I’ve never used it on you, and I never will on any of my flock unless there are extreme circumstances. Have you heard of Alzheimer’s disease?”

Dean nodded. “Of course. Why?”

“It’s an unfortunate side effect of the procedure. That’s why we use it so sparingly.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Dean breathed, feeling anger reaching into the deepest corners of every cell of his body. “Henriksen is going to develop dementia, then? Do you have any idea what that does to their _families_? And what about the others? What the fuck?”

“They’ll get it only if their angels survive that long. Which I doubt, considering Crowley’s connections with their-”

“Stop. I can't believe we're having this conversation.”

“Very well. You have very little idea of what my job entails, Dean. I suggest you don’t make snap judgements with only a minuscule amount of information to go on. I saved you from a situation you couldn’t have escaped. You should show me some respect.”

Dean shook his head. “I thought you were a good guy, even despite your...your...everything. Take your money back, take the house, I don’t care. I’m done. I’m out. This is over.”

“No, Dean. You’re just getting started. Newspaper, page 7. As I said.”

“Go fuck yourself."

Castiel didn’t budge as Dean shuddered from head to toe.

“If not for me, you’d already be dead. Your brothers, too. Time to show your appreciation. Page 7, Dean. Read it.”

“No. Never.” Dean shut his eyes. “Leave.”

“You’ll need the copper bullets, not the silver ones. The research is wrong.” Castiel left with a whoosh, and Dean sat there for two hours staring at the wall and trying not to panic.

*

“You’re going out,” Sam said twelve hours later. It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. You’ll have to tell me about your day tomorrow. I’ve got…I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.” Dean closed his comic book and leaned back against the headboard.

“Okay. Adam’s in bed already.”

“Thanks. Sam, I…I want to let you know that I’m really impressed with how well you’ve adjusted to this new place so far. You’ve been awesome.”

“Yeah, um….” Sam shifted from foot to foot. “I want to tell you something, Dean. Um. You’re not going to like it, but I want to live in the dorms at Stanford.”

“You can’t. Sorry, Sammy.”

“Why not?”

“Adam’s not 17 yet. It’s illegal for me to leave him alone overnight. Gotta love California. I could you leave you guys at like 12 in Kansas-”

“That’s not fair,” Sam pouted, and Dean sat up.

“Too bad. Deal with it. He’ll be 17 after your first semester, so you can move in after that.”

“ _Deal with it?_ That’s how you handle conflict now? I mean, guess it’s better than the belt, but-”

“Can we talk about this later? I’m seriously deep in research about this case. Okay?”

“In a Batman comic? Fine. Whatever."

Sam left – careful not to slam the door, as John had (painfully) taught his boys at a very young age – and Dean picked up his comic book again. Concealed inside was a carefully hand-copied page of lore on what Castiel had indicated was terrorizing a community of McMansions in the nearby hills. 

He didn’t want to hunt tonight. He really didn’t; he fucking hated being manipulated and toyed with, and forced into compliance by forces beyond his control. But Castiel knew what Dean hadn’t figured out yet. That Dean Winchester had a hero complex, and he would do the hunt anyway because he actually, genuinely liked saving people. That feeling gave him a sense of pride nothing else ever had managed to come close to. It also helped wash away the shame, little by little, that he always carried with him for failing to escape the only option for life his father had given him.

This. Sneaking around in the dark, lying all the time, getting injured half the time. Never being able to sleep without nightmares. Being a puppet.

Angels were dicks. Who knew? Dean knew now. And...it suddenly didn't matter as much as it had this morning. Hundreds of people were still alive because of the Winchesters. Sam was getting a full ride to Stanford because of that, by extension. Adam would probably get whatever he wanted, too, if Dean would just buck the fuck up and do what he loved to do.

So Dean folded the paper and carefully jammed it into his back pocket, then pulled the box of copper bullets out of the nightstand and began loading his guns.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel's signature hot swoosh filled the room just as the morning alarm went off, but Dean didn’t move a millimeter; the effort was overwhelming and his brain too addled with sleep; reality still conflated with lingering dreams.

“Said you weren't gonna bother me,” Dean grumbled irritably without opening his eyes.

"You're injured. Again." Castiel stepped towards the bed, and Dean reflexively buried himself further under his covers.

"I'm fine. Leave me alone," Dean ordered stiffly, but with a sudden, stabbing regret. Shit, but his lower back hurt so bad from taking a tumble down a ditch after being hit hard with some kind of long projectile thrown by the vamp he'd been pursing. The object itself, whatever it was, had left a huge welt across one shoulder that even the best painkillers were barely managing. He'd maybe slept three hours between the waves of fire running from his butt to his neck.

"No, you're not fine." Castiel stepped forward and reached under the blanket, taking a firm hold of Dean's backside.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Dean nearly screeched as he struggled deeper into the blankets to twist away from the touch and scorching heat. Castiel held him tightly, ignoring the panic.

“Your tailbone is broken,” Castiel replied mildly. “Stop struggling."

"Ow, fuck!"

Castiel didn’t relent, but finally stepped back after a few long moments and put his hands back where they belonged - into his trench coat pockets - and looked at Dean curiously.

"Just when I think I understand humans-"

"Don't you _ever_ grab my ass again!" Dean spat indignantly, heaving angry deep breaths, nearly in tears with frustration. And in vain; Castiel would do what he wanted, whenever he wanted, and there was nothing Dean could do about it.

Castiel smirked in that maddening manner of his. "You're welcome."

Dean swallowed down his umbrage as best he could as he leapt out of bed (clothed, thankfully) and threw on his old plaid robe over his still-burning shoulders. 

"Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick, just fucking _ask_ me first before you lay your oven mitts on me. Especially...down there, while I'm _in bed_ , for fuck's sake. Consent is something we humans take very seriously, in case you haven't figured that out yet. What the hell’s wrong with you?"

“Do your job correctly and you won’t have to suffer such indignation again,” the angel answered with a shrug.

Dean rolled his eyes and scoffed. He'd fallen off a roof with less damage than this. But, still...

"Accidents happen. I'm not perfect, like you don't know already."

Castiel was totally unmoved. “You were careless, and you know it. I think it’s because you know I can heal you. You think you can do whatever you want now.”

“Or maybe I’m just tired. You’re making me hunt every fucking day."

“Not true. But you know I cannot bring people back from the dead. If I don't reach you in time, you're gone forever. Do you understand me?"

"Well...get there in time, then!"

"You're not my first priority, Dean."

"Yeah, I know. You tell me that a lot." Dean wrapped his robe even tighter around himself and cinched it shut absurdly tight. "Does amazing things for the ego, in case you were wondering. Were you watching me hunt, then?”

“No. But in all the time you hunted with your dad, I only had to heal you twice in ten years. This is the third time in less than a month."

“It wasn't my intention to just...to just fall back on your healing powers."

“Intentions don’t matter. Actions do."

“Right. Okay, dad.” Dean rolled his eyes again. "I'm tired. I need a break."

"You can have 48 hours rest. Then you go back to hunting at 9pm on Thursday."

Dean froze, his anger bubbling up again to the surface. "Don't tell me what to do."

Castiel shrugged. "We've had the discussion already. About how I can make you do what I want you to do, by limiting your choices and providing irresistible options. You demanded that I cease that practice. The compromise, if you recall, is that I'm straightforward with you and tell you-"

"Yeah, fine. I get it. Fuck."

"Therefore, you will hunt again at 9 on Thursday."

"I said I get it," Dean huffed. "Will you please go now, or do you wanna feel up my nutsack first?”

Castiel cocked his head a little. “Are you injured there, as well? I’m not sensing any-“

“No!” Dean shot back quickly. “It was a joke."

The angel cocked his head like a curious dog.

"Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah. Thank you for healing me," Dean said finally, with an acquiescent nod. "I didn't...I wasn't successful last night. But I guess you know that already."

“I do. I'm starting to think I chose the wrong man for the job."

Dean laughed humorlessly. “Yet another ego boost. Great. Thanks, boss.”

* * *

"I just told you to turn left! You missed the entrance. Take a u-turn.”

"Calm down, Sammy," Dean warned as he flicked on his turn signal and pulled into the left lane.

"You're on a different planet right now," Sam grumbled irritably. “Haven’t listened to a damned thing I’ve said since you picked me up."

" _Calm down_. Not warning you again."

“At least you’re talking to me when you’re threatening me!"

"Shut up, Sam.”

Sam sighed. "Let me out. I'll walk the rest of the way. I don't want your distracted driving getting me killed before I get to sign my papers."

“You’ll be fine. How did the meeting go, anyway?"

"Other than my advisor having no information on where my scholarship came from, it was fine."

"Well, they did say the donor was anonymous. Quit poking around about it."

"Literally nobody knows me but you and Adam. And nobody cares about me that much. It's just fucking weird, that's all."

"Knock it off. Maybe it was a lottery, a random draw or something. You should be grateful, not nosy. Let it go."

Sam scowled, but sat silently for the next few blocks, only pointing out the driveway of the financial aid office with a single huge index finger. Dean pulled up to the curb, and then slammed on the brakes when Sam opened the door while the Impala was still clipping along at a fairly good speed.

"Ow!" Sam complained as his seat belt locked and kept him from flying headfirst into the dashboard. "What the hell, Dean?"

"You gonna jump out of a moving car now, Sam? Really? Guess you really don't want to sign that grant paperwork after all, huh? I'll wait across the street at the coffee shop. Take your time."

Sam nodded. "It's gonna be a while. Probably a couple hours. Why don't you just go home? I'll take a taxi back."

_Because Castiel can't harass me in a crowded coffee shop, that's why._

"Kinda sick of the house, that's all. Adam'll enjoy having some alone time, anyway. Go."

"You're not okay," Sam declared firmly as he took hold of the door handle preemptively, in case he needed to bail fast from the car and his angry brother. "And you know something about this scholarship that I don't. What's gonna happen if I turn it down?"

Dean squirmed a little on the Impala's slippery upholstery. "I don't know _anything_ more about it. And you'd better be glad we live in California now, or I'd be taking off my belt to give you an attitude adjustment in front of all these people, right now."

"What? Like two weeks ago you said you'd never-"

"And I won't! But it's goddamn tempting sometimes. You're such a...go to your meeting, and don't be a dick about it. You're not eighteen yet, so I can still ground you for the next seven months if you keep pissing me off."

“Whatever. Not like I have anywhere to go, anyway." Sam got out of the car and gently shut the door behind him. No matter how angry he was, he'd never slammed the Impala's doors; he had witnessed Dean getting the stuffing knocked out of him by dad for doing just that, and it had been lesson enough. So many years ago.

A strong sense of sadness suddenly overtook Sam, as it tended to do whenever he thought of his brother as an overprotective and physically abused teenager, and he immediately halted in his tracks and turned back to the Impala. Dean was still watching him - of course he was; he'd follow his brother's movements until Sam was safely inside. Maybe even longer.

Dean rolled down the window, his gloomy expression mirroring Sam's emotions. "What's up?"

Sam swallowed hard and shifted his backpack to both shoulders. "Sorry, Dean. I'm not gonna turn it down. But if...if you do learn something about it, tell me. Okay? Please."

"Sure thing, Sammy. Promise. But you gotta promise me something, too. You're not gonna be ungrateful about it. You're gonna appreciate it. Sometimes good things just happen, okay?"

"Not to us." Sam wasn't sure, but he thought Dean's eyes went moist suddenly. He hitched his backpack up a little higher. "I mean, sorry. I...shit. I gotta go."

"Language. See ya back here in two hours."

"Thanks, Dean. Hey, when are you gonna let me cuss?"

"When you're eighteen, that's fucking when. Go."

Dean was not prepared whatsoever to encounter Castiel in the diner three blocks away. Not in the least bit ready. As the trench-coated man made eye contact over a very large mug of something hot and brown, Dean picked his jaw up off the floor and forced himself to look at the hostess who was watching him worriedly from the stand.

"How many, sir?"

Fighting the urge to flee the scene while screeching like a seven year old girl, Dean pointed to Castiel and squeaked out, "Just joining my friend. Thank you."

"Cute guy. Lucky you," the hostess murmured and winked. "Lucky him, too."

Dean couldn't even process that - didn't even hear her, really. Castiel was here, and why?

"Hey, Cas," Dean said as casually as he could manage while taking the menu offered to him as he was seated. "Um, sorry I'm late."

"I don't understand. You're not late. You didn't even know I'd be here."

Dean looked up at the confused hostess. "What a funny guy," he said with a grin.

The hostess walked off, and Dean's smile fell off his face. They were alone in the back of the diner, with only an employee nearby wiping a table and humming to herself.

Dean lifted up his menu, but didn't see any of the words.

"What is this, Cas?"

"That's a menu."

Dean let it fall onto the table and glared at the angel. "I know that. I mean, what is...oh. You...did you just actually try to make a joke?"

Castiel smiled a little. "Yes. I'm glad you noticed."

"Well, maybe your delivery is fine, but your timing is shit. This is not funny to me. What the hell are you doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm...I'm waiting for Sam. Wait. Why does that matter?"

Castiel shrugged. "You told Sam you were going to the coffee shop."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed. "They were closed. Power outage. Did you...did you arrange that?"

"That doesn't seem like a logical conclusion to reach."

"Logical. Okay, Spock. Still doesn't explain what you're doing here. Start talking."

"I realize that the last time I visited you was...stressful for you. I thought talking in public would offer a better environment to help keep your temper under control."

Dean picked up his glass of water and gulped half of it down. "Maybe you not randomly showing up and grabbing my ass would be a better plan-"

"May I take your order, sir?"

Dean gulped and looked up; there was a slight smile playing across the lips of the pretty young waitress who had obviously overheard the most embarrassing part of this conversation.

"Uhh...uh..." Dean flushed hot red. Maybe even purple. "Bacon cheeseburger and root beer. Medium rare. Thanks. Cas?"

"Nothing, thanks."

The waitress left, and Dean had to close his eyes and count to ten to regain his composure. Castiel was absolutely right; Dean wouldn't lose his temper here. Not in public. Not even right now, possibly the most humiliating moment of his life.

"Don't you dare fucking laugh," Dean growled.

Castiel went somber again, which was somehow worse. But Dean controlled himself and kept his tone low and level.

"Okay. I get it. You're right, I won't blow up here. But it's just...I dunno, don't you think discussing what we normally discuss in _public_ is all kinds of wacky and weird?"

"Not if we can go somewhere nobody can hear us."

"You mean like that little tiny coffee shop? I find it really suspicious that I ended up here, in this huge place with hardly any people. Last chance to come clean: did you knock the power out so I wouldn't go there?"

Castiel cocked his head, but didn't answer. And Dean had learned quickly; whatever the angel didn't deny or confirm was an answer in itself.

"Goddamn it," Dean muttered as he started to stand up.

"Sit down, Dean."

"This is bullshit."

Dean tried to leave, but was suddenly blocked by the presence of a huge cleaning cart in his way. He had nowhere to go, and the employee manning the thing didn't see him or hear him. Dean was forced to sit back down in the booth and glare at his foe. Friend. Foe. Whatever the fuck he was today.

"Nice trick, asshole."

"We're having this discussion whether you like it or not, Dean."

"You said you couldn't affect free will. My free will is to leave, right now."

"I didn't arrange for the cart to block your way, Dean. That was a fortunate coincidence for me."

"You said there's no such thing as coincidence. Everything is pre-determined, remember?"

"I didn't say that. You did. I've explained that the algorithms are too complicated to define. The cart is gone now, so you can leave. But then you won't hear what I have to say. Your choice."

Dean sighed. "My _choice_. Ironic words. Nothing has actually been my choice since, when? The day I was born?"

"Do you want to hear what I have to say, or not?"

Dean hesitated, then nodded. "Make it quick. But turn the power back on first because those people at the coffee shop are losing money. Fix it. I don't care who did it."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "I find it odd that with so much at stake, you care about something so minor and inconsequential."

"It's not inconsequential to them! It's a family run business, they're probably running paycheck to paycheck. Turn it on, or I'm leaving."

"Leave, then." Castiel leaned across the table, his expression taking on somewhat of a deeply menacing hue. "Threats don't work with me, Dean. I only let you think they do when I need something from you. But you're the one who needs something from me, now. So you will stay, and you will listen. When we're done, I'll turn the power back on. Not before then."

Dean's heart was suddenly solidly lodged in his throat, and he found it difficult to breathe all of a sudden while still maintaining a straight face as the angel kept his eyes locked on him. All he could do was nod. _Nod_. Like a fucking puppet.

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel said pleasantly, leaning back into his booth again like a normal person, having a normal conversation. As if Dean could remember what _that_ was like.

The waitress showed up with Dean's root beer, which he ignored. "You're wrong on one count, Castiel. I don't want or need anything from you," he blurted tiredly.

"Hmmm. We'll see. On another subject, didn't Sam run away once? To Flagstaff, on a Greyhound bus?"

"Yes. Worst fucking weeks of my life. Why'd you bring that up?"

"Because there's a Greyhound bus station across the street from us right now. It just happened to jog my memory. That's all. I was only curious. Thank you for confirming my memory is still good."

Dean stared at the angel blankly, strongly disliking his excessively casual manner. "Stop playing games. What do you want?"

"Look at how tall that kid is. Downright gangly. Probably going to be a basketball player some day."

Castiel pointed, and Dean irritably followed his finger to look at the Greyhound station across the little street. Then he sucked in his breath, hardly believing what he was seeing. There was Sam, opening his wallet while standing at the ticket window.

"What the... _what the hell.._." he sputtered incoherently, resisting the urge to rub his eyes like a cartoon animal. No, it was absolutely Sam. 100% Sam.

Castiel continued in a casual tone, "After all these years I've noticed that teenagers tend to do the opposite of what you tell them to do. Encouraging them to comply is perhaps a better answer, or would you argue against that?"

Dean slid out of the booth quickly and headed towards the back door as fast as he could without making it look like he had just committed a crime. He walked slowly across the street, forcing himself to stay calm.

"Hey Sammy," he called lightly, masking his nearly crippling fear out of his tone.

"Dean!" Sam's eyes bugged and he dropped his wallet in his surprise while stepping away from the ticket window to make room for the person behind him to move up.

"I was just having a bite at the diner. Not stalking you, promise. Coffee shop was closed. Come here for a sec."

He moved further up the sidewalk, but Sam didn't follow. He was too shocked. Rooted into place. Dean glanced across the street into the diner. Castiel was gone.

"Come on, Sam. I'm not mad. Walk with me."

Dean turned to walk, not looking back to see if Sam was following. He wasn't sure if he would or not, but it was worth the risk of trusting him to do it. But then he heard the teenager's heavy footsteps, and felt much better. He didn't turn around again until he reached a bench outside the coffee shop. It was open again, the power on, with a long line forming inside. Good.

"Sit down, Sam. Talk to me."

"I'll stand."

"Please sit."

Sam did. He was white as a ghost. "I...I..."

"Flagstaff all over again, huh? Why, Sam?" Dean's tone was mild, but full of hurt. He felt like there was a huge, gaping hole in his chest suddenly.

"Umm. I...fuck. Dean, how...why..."

"I didn't know you were there. Like I said, coffee shop was closed. I only spotted you because you're like eight feet tall and my booth was next to the window."

Sam looked to the door of said coffee shop. "Closed, huh? It's open, Dean."

"It wasn't when I came by. Ask them if you want to, I'll wait here."

To his surprise, Sam stood up and nodded. "Okay. I will. No offense, I....I just want to make sure you're on the level before I...before I get on the level, too."

Despite Dean's keen hurt, he smiled a little. "Good man. Wouldn't expect anything less."

Sam was back a minute later, and he sat down heavily. "Okay. Fine. I blew off my appointment and bought a ticket to San Diego. Wasn't going to stay long. Just...needed to clear my head a bit."

"Okay." Dean nodded, although all he wanted to do was burst into tears. "You remember how traumatic Flagstaff was for me, right?"

Sam took a deep breath. "It wasn't gonna be like that."

"Don't lie, Sam. You weren't gonna tell me! It was gonna be exactly like that. Don't. Lie."

Sam fell silent.

"Here's what I want to happen to happen next, Sam. Notice that I'm not _demanding_ that it happen. I'm proposing a plan. Go back to the ticket office and change the date on your trip. Move it until after school ends in three weeks. Then go to San Diego for a bit."

"But Adam can't be overnight alone-"

"Stop. You didn't care what was gonna happen with Adam before, so don't act like you will now. After the ticket's changed, we're going back to the financial aid office and you're going to sign the paperwork for your scholarship, and you're going to stop asking where the money is coming from. Don't interrupt me. Then we're going home to-"

“No, Dean," Sam interrupted firmly. "I'm not gonna stop asking. You know why? Because you're so intent on hiding it. So I know something's up. If you hadn't been acting like it was all a big secret, I wouldn't be upset about it. You're the one who made me suspicious, so you're the one who needs to fix this. You've been lying to me."

Dean closed his eyes and counted to ten. "What makes you think I'm lying, Sam?"

Sam was quiet for a few moments. "Fine. You're not going to like my theory. No police force the size of Lawrence is gonna pay that much money for info on a minor criminal, and nobody gives a big enough shit about me to get me a scholarship at Stanford. Period. I'm starting to think you've gotten into some organized crime thing that we had to run away to California to escape."

_Well, thought Dean, why stop now? If you're going do it, go big..._

"No. The scholarship came from a private individual who had been trying to nab Crowley for years. It was a thank you for my services. I didn't want him to give me a huge lump sum of money, for our safety. That shit's traceable. Not to mention the taxes that would have been taken out. Establishing a scholarship in your name was our compromise. It was a gift. Okay? Do you understand now why I didn't want to tell you this, because of how absurd it all is? Crowley wasn’t a minor criminal. He was in deep. I'm still reeling myself, so I didn't know how to explain it to you. That's the story, take it or leave it."

Sam was deathly silent, but his expression didn't betray his thoughts. Not even a little.

"Sam," Dean continued quietly, "don't throw your life away because you disagree with how I handled things."

Sam finally spoke after several minutes of contemplation. "Declining a scholarship isn't 'throwing my life away.' I can get loans. This is...this is dirty money, Dean."

"And you were dealt a dirty hand in life, what with dad and...well, with dad. If anyone deserves to avoid going a hundred thousand bucks in debt because they were born into a shitty situation, it's you, Sam. I mean it. Take it."

Sam shook his head. "No. Sorry, Dean. I do have a compromise of my own, though."

"What?" Dean asked tightly.

"Save the scholarship for Adam. And don't tell him where it's from. He's not as smart as me, he'll never ask where it came from or be able to pay back loans so fast. He's gonna need it way more than me. Let your contact know I'm not taking a penny of it. That's final."

Typical Sam, thought Dean. Leave it to an older brother to insult the intelligence of a younger brother whenever the chance presented itself. The thought almost made him smile. Almost. Adam definitely wouldn't get into Stanford, but that was another story not worth thinking about now. Castiel could conjure up the money no matter where Adam ended up. If they were all still on good terms in a year, anyway. Which, at the moment, seemed highly questionable.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

Sam's forehead was crinkled. "You...are you okay with that?"

Dean found himself nodding. "Yeah. If I have to be. Not happy, but...it'll do. You still got time to put in the loan paperwork?"

"Yeah. Deadline is in a few weeks. Um. The Greyhound tickets. I should go change them."

"Where were you planning to stay, Sam? How were you going to pay for anything?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "These are for next week, I figured I'd have time to work it out."

Dean stood up, and Sam followed him slowly down the sidewalk. "I'll give the money to go in three weeks, but you gotta promise to come back," Dean said over his shoulder.

"I'll come back, Dean," Sam answered. "I won't leave Adam."

_But you'd leave me..._

_——————_

"I owe you an apology," Dean said immediately as Castiel appeared in the kitchen while the boys were out at a movie. He set the frying pan down and turned to the angel.

"No, you don't."

"You led me that diner for a reason. Because not being Sam's angel meant that you couldn't tell me what to do with him. I had to see what he was up to and decide for myself."

"I'm glad you were able to successfully intervene."

Dean shook his head. "But there I was, getting all frantic about the freakin' power going out when the entire time, my brother is planning to run away. I wouldn't have known, if you hadn't done what you did. I'm so fucking stupid."

"I didn't do anything," Castiel said innocently. "But I do hope you've learned that the...well, that things that happen around you that seem random - that you may not like - are actually happening for a reason."

Dean nodded. "I already knew that. When the house I was gonna rent in San Jose burned down so that I'd end up here. I just don't like other people suffering at my expense."

"Nobody suffered at the coffee shop, Dean. Did you see the line afterwards? They made more money yesterday than the day before. No harm done."

"What about the burned down house? Did something good happen to those owners?"

"I don't know. It depends on what their angels have in store for them."

Dean suddenly felt an ice-cold, sickly unpleasant chill course throughout his body. Castiel just made it sound like humans are all just a bunch of pieces on a chess board.

"And what do you have in store for me next, exactly?"

\------


End file.
